


Under the Table

by Cassia_Bea



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Era, Canon Related, Dante has good people around him, Different perspectives, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I have all the power, I have free reins on making up background stories, Light Angst, Protectiveness, Self-Indulgent, in this house we need to appreciate this whacky depressed wreck of a man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassia_Bea/pseuds/Cassia_Bea
Summary: There are five people in Dante's life.Five stories about their lives with the devil hunter.Five privy thoughts and protective means.And one time where they all just go down on Vergil when the two returned.
Relationships: Dante & Lady (Devil May Cry), Dante & Morrison (Devil May Cry), Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Patty Lowell, Dante & Trish (Devil May Cry), Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Dante (Devil May Cry) & Everyone
Comments: 18
Kudos: 95





	1. Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of a warning: this is very, very self-indulgent and I found myself getting sucked into this old fandom.  
> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

_He was so stereotypical._

That was Lady’s first impression of Dante.

While she was grateful that he saved her, the quip ‘My kind of rain’ didn’t strike a right chord. It bristled her enough that she shot her rescuer to release her leg. The landing _hurt_ but it beat having her ears chocked full of the obnoxity boys like him would say.

And yes, she labelled the white-haired bastard a _boy_ despite knowing full well he was around her age. But ugh, he really acted like one than a young man.

Her impression was soured more when the youth left her in the middle of a fight. Flying a goodbye kiss as if he were some kind of a Rockstar. His fashion choice really didn’t help either, though that would say the same for her. Arriving at the Temennigru with only a shirt and a skirt but hey, what could she do, she was in a hurry and needed to have every ammunition that she could carry.

Alright, she digressed there a bit.

Back to the point, after shooting the last of the demon hoard and making her way up, Lady had even cursed him as she wiped sweat and demon ichor off. It took her longer to reach her deadbeat and murderous father thanks to him! She had a goal in mind. To exact vengeance for her mother’s death. No pretty white-haired boys would halt her just because they were an asshole. She was on a goddamn hunt.

But even family, no matter how rotten, still held that tiny piece of your heart captive. Lady was too young, too naïve to accept Arkham’s words at face value. Just because he was dying and acted so, so repentant in his ‘final moments’. She should have known better and yet the lie hooked on her. Her disposition on Dante didn’t change during that time, blinded with rage and grief mudding her every move.

And maybe that was why when Kalina Anna pierced her thigh that those feelings felt like a big ‘idiot’ sign on her head. She had been easily manipulated that it resulted in a blinding pain and for the Jester to achieve his goal. Humiliation and betrayal burned within her chest then, still stubbornly refusing Dante’s side of reason as she glided up with her weapon.

It was when they encountered each other again for the decisive fight on whose actual responsibility this whole fiasco belonged to that Lady saw the glimpse of the underneath.

And…. truthfully, it twinged something in her heart in spite of the still clamoring emotions. Perhaps it was the sudden serious gleam in his eyes or the voiced-out reason that he spoke in lower tone. Perhaps it was neither and had everything to do with how he mentioned his brother. The somber tone so easily missed if she had still been stubborn. Lady noticed though and had after offered her own kind of solidarity by lending him her beloved Kalina Ann. Understanding deeply how family could be a curse more than a blessing.

At the end, Mary finally rid herself of the curse. Tears streaming down her face nevertheless because _family was still family._ The lost more to how messed up hers had been than for Arkham. The name ‘Lady’ was only right when it was the thing that was so nonchalantly thrown at her. Sounding free and like a fresh start in a brand-new book rather than ripping page from the old one.

Her view on demons didn’t instantly change, yet it lent its start when she and Dante were reunited in the Human World. The landscape was a sorry sight as she felt the increasing downpour of the rain. Lady was a stubborn youth, brash and tough, but she wasn’t cold-hearted. Thus, when she saw the wetness trailing down his face that didn’t come from the sky, Lady didn’t dare to stop it.

And who would have thought that Dante would use her words for the shop’s name?

\---

They fell into some form of a friendship as they left the whole demonic tower thing behind.

She stayed around for a short while, helping with the jobs and what not until the place felt too cramped for the both of them, and Lady revved her motorcycle to spread her wings more. They stayed in touch, at times coming together for a drink or two when it was _that_ anniversary. In hindsight, it was a good thing she frequented the place.

While she was no maid, it didn’t hurt to clean up a bit and dragging Dante into doing the same. The cocky, devil may care attitude was there and it was genuinely him. Which made it fun when things didn’t go his way, not to mention his apparent shitty luck. Lady’s tabs on him accumulated at light speed thanks to that. It didn’t help that he was downright bad with money. It was hilarious in its own way and it became something of their own brand of camaraderie.

Yet Lady couldn’t help but worried if even just a bit.

Oh, Dante could take care of himself just fine. His demon blood giving him the advantage that human devil hunters would kill for. Strength and healing came hand in hand for him. Any blows, lesions, and tears were easy to fix if not at all. Lady herself could lift and comfortably hold Rebellion, but the light and fast swings would always be Dante only. He was near untouchable, borderline invisible if it wasn’t for his own tendency to dive headfirst.

“It’s a party, Lady. Of course, I’m going all out,” Dante had reasoned when Lady rubbed her face at the sheer destroyed state his clothes were in. “I couldn’t just let them to rock alone, right?” He grinned.

She could have believed that if the smile even reached his eyebags. Them becoming more prominent as the years went by and along with that, so did the lessened bombastic antics. Lady really wanted to chuck it to him being more grown-up, more mature yet couldn’t find it in her to do so. It would mean denying her own intuition and that was a lie that she would inflict on herself. She had enough time to grow out of her naivety and denial.

So, when she arrived for their annual day and already smelt the stinking alcohol from the doorway, Lady knew Dante was not alright. Was not fine in the slightest, never was now that she thought deeply.

“Dante?” She shook his shoulder.

The man in question only muffled into his arms.

“Dante, come on,” she pushed against him to make him at least stand. The tall man did then immediately crumpled to the floor. “Goddamnit,” Lady cursed as she turned him on his back. Dante might be half-demon, but that didn’t mean she would let him choke on his own vomit. “Okay, you gotta work with me here,” a hand lightly slapped his cheek. It didn’t garner enough reaction though his eyes were flickering opened.

The two hobbled together with Lady having to exert all her muscles to carry the much larger and heavier man to the toilet. She got there in time as Dante heaved so fast into the bowl. The sounds were so absurd coming from him that Lady only rubbed her hand on his back. Waiting until the worst passed, allowing for the shop to be disturbed by smaller sobs.

“There, there,” Lady tried to mimic what memory in the back of her head when her mother would do the same to her. They stayed like that for some time until Lady felt her legs cramping then deeming it was enough. “Come on, Dante. Let’s crash to your bed,” she said with the softest voice possible.

“Lady…” The devil hunter mumbled for the first time.

The other huntress only smiled ruefully, “Yeah, it’s me. Don’t worry, I locked the doors. Now come on,” her hand tugged his black sleeve, “you need to change.”

After some more shuffling and a close call on vomiting again, they huddled on the creaky bed. On the normal days, Lady would have wrinkled her nose and stripped the sheets. Yet this was not one of those days. She ignored it, instead leaning her back to the headboard.

Lady was an only child. Never entertained a thought once about having siblings. Her mother died too early in her life and the rest had been spent on learning how to shoot a gun and where to put bullets in demons. Looking down on Dante like this might as well be as close as she got to feel and act like an older sister. Quite ironic since Dante was older than her by two years.

He never elaborated more about Vergil. None of their time spent dotted with a lick about his brother. They were twins, that much Lady knew. Aside from that, Dante provided her with nothing. But she saw his old left glove on the desk along with the ever-present picture of a blonde beautiful woman. It didn’t take Lady long to know that the two items meant greatly to him. Curiosity had slithered in once, the casual question at the tip of her tongue before she swallowed it down. The burgeoning need to respect her friend’s privacy winning out at the end.

Dante eventually went asleep as the evening wore on. His side of the pillow wet and Lady couldn’t help but pulled the thin covers more to his chin. He stayed in his curled position until she too closed her eyes.

The morning after jumpstarted with the dawning awkwardness that Lady honestly didn’t give a shit about. She leaned onto the desk as Dante mumbled out reasons that didn’t make sense and only served to annoy her.

“Listen,” Lady raised her hand to his face, “I don’t care. We can pretend nothing ever happens and proceeds with our ritual. How about it? Nothing beats breakfast at the diner, huh?” She put her hand on her hip.

Dante blinked owlishly which elicited a laugh from her as they walked out into the street.

“And don’t worry,” Lady winked as they sat at their usual booth, “I’m paying this time around.”

It took a moment for her friend to blink normality back, then proceeded to put his hands on his face, sighing loudly. He kept covering his face when the waiter returned with their food. Lady chose to eat without him as minutes later she heard a soft, meek voice coming out of those lips.

“Thanks, Lady.”

It sounded grateful. _Relieved._

Lady knew that wasn’t only for the paid food.

\---

Life went on and time did work its property onto them.

Their camaraderie was always going to be part of their charm. Something that later Trish would also join. Jumping on the bandwagon and perfectly in sync with her. After all, money was money, and the bills weren’t going to pay themselves.

Their good days were always fun and full of teasing between old comrades. Like a balm for when the bad days hit. During those days, Lady would cancel the current jobs and closed the shop for the day. She held a spartan hold on the alcohol, watching him took glasses like a hawk. The rest of the evenings would be spent with them on the sofa, a cheap bootleg movie playing on the television with pizza boxes and junk food strewn around.

Sometimes, when it was too much outside, Lady saw the signal and would then steer them to empty secluded places. An alley at one time, an abandoned church on another. There Kalina Ann and Rebellion laid abandoned, their owners leaning against each other. No matter how ridiculous and comical they looked. Dante’s neck suffered from a low angle. He didn’t care. It was an unspoken gesture between them. Neither pointing out anything.

It was good. It was grounding. A touchstone formed over time.

Lady appreciated the easy acceptance of it. Would glare even the meanest son of a bitch down when they raised a condescending brow when they caught glimpses of those moments. It earned her various names, several of them unsavory but who gave a shit. They were devil hunters, exposed to a certain degree of mindfuck craziness on an almost daily basis that it would be tragic for one to be unnerved by something like a small display of the heart.

Dante might be the Legendary Devil Hunter. Arguably the strongest out of these human ones. Untouchable and lived up to the titles he earned throughout the years.

But Lady knew better.

Sometimes, even physical strength paled in comparison to the lurking darkness of the mind.

And it was not something she would allow to sink its teeth into him. Not if she had any chance to dampen the blow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady is arguably the longest friend that Dante has and they both shared the loss of family. Even when their circumstances were different. She has been around for long and I like how the two interact, especially after they left the whole Temennigru behind. 
> 
> She's comfortable hanging out with him - the anime is a blast because Dante just let her getting away with shits and DMC4 and 5 are them acting like such best friends vibes - but I don't particularly think she knows the full extent of Dante's past and his troubled relationship with Vergil. 
> 
> And don't worry, I'm not ditching [Infant Joy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27149908/chapters/66303133) and [To You at The End](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350329/chapters/66827521)  
> They're my babies and I want to perfect the chapters before posting it to you lovelies. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are my fuels and greatly appreciated!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	2. Trish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Trish was young.

If everyone at Mallet Island were some sort of a family, she would be the youngest and the wiliest.

Mundus had created her last, shaped to be the most human-looking. When she first opened her eyes and properly looked at herself after Mundus gave his sermon, Trish had immediately hated the prudish clothes. There was no command forbidding Trish to choose her own style, so the next few hours after her ‘birth’ the demoness busied herself.

Cotton? Too easy to tear. Skirts? Somehow it didn’t sit well as she liked to jump around. Heels were cool and she chose black boots. What about the top? No turtlenecks, they constricted her. Maybe something cool? She liked her body, and should she pair the leather pants with this corset? It didn’t look that safe but who cares? Wasn’t she some kind of a demon? It didn’t matter what the humans thought then.

The leather outfit fit her well. Trish loved it a million times better than the stifling boring dress Mundus put her in before. Her creator could be a strange one or it could be that he was out of touch with the current era. Well, it didn’t matter now that she was satisfied with her fashion style.

Days at the island were boring. Every creature that lurked around was either mindless or snarky, but she did have fun with Griffon. The little birdie just liked to ask for a hearty zap of her lightning. Aside from that though, she found herself wandering around the place. Mundus never came if it wasn’t necessary, holing up in the Underworld as the gate was not yet completed. It was the morning after a heavy rain that Trish finally found something interesting, or rather, someone.

Nelo Angelo was a new addition. The others whispering hotly how this meant their master was serious in his plan to resume taking over the Human World. Trish shrugged them off, disinterested in whatever menial plan Mundus made. He hadn’t even specifically told her what her job was. Trish would have ignored Nelo Angelo yet when he looked at her, the towering knight trembled. Long enough for the young demoness to notice the armour rattling.

She had initially thought he was acclimatizing to the Overworld’s atmosphere, but Nelo Angelo was Mundus’ strongest servant and the deadliest. There was no way he was having trouble staying in this weaker realm. Trish was about to ask when the knight disappeared in wisps of smokes. Griffon had immediately proceeded to gripe.

“Oh, even the newest guest hates you, girlie,” he cackled. Trish flicked her crackling hand towards the bird instead of a comeback. They were at it again for the rest of the day.

When she finally plopped down on the bed, Nelo Angelo walked out of the mirror. His heavy footsteps startling her enough to stand on the mattress.

“What do you want?” Trish put her hands on her hips, “It’s rude to intrude on a girl’s room, you know.”

The towering demon stayed silent, the hollowed eyes staring at her. It was the first time she ever felt something akin to unnerve. She almost let lightning flowed from her fingertips to elicit a reaction when Nelo Angelo crossed the room.

His gloved hand was cold. Somehow lifeless which was ridiculous because demons didn’t _have_ souls. Trish stood stock still, confused when the gentle caress started. Nelo’s fingers glided on her face, feather light as if she were glass. The juxtaposition of his reputation and the display threw her out of loop until Nelo Angelo stopped. Retreating to the mirror and left Trish gawking. Still in her boots on the bed.

_What the hell just happened?_

It became a common occurrence, the armored demon finding her to just… hold her face between his large hands. Somehow, she allowed it, even more after Nelo Angelo made it clear for the rest of the denizens to cease their harassment of her. Griffon had sulked and cursed when he got dealt a blow that almost crippled him from flying again. Trish grinned at his suffering and walked away whistling.

Trish raised her brows every single time Nelo approached her and at the tenth, she dared herself to remove the helmet. The constant looking at it made her itched to see the underneath. Nelo Angelo let her. Black tendrils whispered under the purple skin as dimmed red eyes stared vacantly back.

He didn’t look the part as someone who was referred as Mundus’ strongest underling. Face noble and too human for all that she had heard about him. They never actually talked, aside from Trish’s own quips whenever she was bored. There was something tangible inside him that Trish couldn’t point out.

Weirdly enough, he became something of an acquaintance. They would sit side by side in silence, staring at the waves or at the top of the tower. She made it a game to find out his likes and dislikes. Trish found there was a flicker of interest whenever she brought books. Printed words never appealed much to her, the meanings lost as she read on the poetries. Slowly though, she began to found enjoyment in some of them, especially the ones from a human called ‘William Blake’. Nelo held his works much longer than the other ones Trish pulled from the dusty library.

Curiosity sparked when she overheard Mundus and him at the chamber. She had been looking for him, since he usually wasn’t late. Her creator called him by another name. It sounded weird and foreign, though also familiar in a way that she swore she had read somewhere. The shelves thereafter were upended in her search for that one particular book.

What she found was a gold mine. In her excitement, Trish didn’t register the twitching and slight gritted teeth her friend had before he slammed her through three walls.

“That hurt!” She yelled after his retreating back. Nelo Angelo didn’t come to her for a while after.

When he resumed their activity, Trish had eventually been told what her objective was. Mundus’ voice echoed throughout her mind as Nelo hunched over her. If she were human or reading too much into it, Nelo might have seemed he was _sorry._ It didn’t matter, she said as much while lightly patting his shoulder. Demons were prone to be aggressive and no matter how high of a rank one could be, baser act won out occasionally.

There were three days left until she would head to the mainland. The thought of going someplace else after being cooped up on the island sounded refreshing.

“I’m going to get your brother,” she said as she put her hands behind her head, “our master is going to need him for the final step.”

Nelo Angelo minutely stopped his caressing and Trish had braced for impact before he only went back to his ministration again. Silent as ever.

“Aren’t you looking forward to it?” She tilted her head. “It’s going to be a family reunion, and I thought humans are always happy about it.”

He didn’t give any reaction. Trish sighed, slowly sitting up as she put her hand on her chest. “Don’t worry, he will get here fast and in one piece. Master would have my head if I roughed him up too much,” she smiled cheekily, “What kind of entrance should I make? Just knocking and walking in are boring and lacks style.”

Still no answers from him. Trish shook her head, sighing as she plopped down again.

“You know, you can try to smile a bit,” she poked at him, “Makes your face different. Without the helmet or not, you always look the same.”

Nelo Angelo slowly blinked at her finger. He only moved it away from his face and made to stand up. The demoness shrugged and wondered if she was wrong about his history all along. But no, that book was genuine. She cross-checked it with another one and it was true. Mundus was asking her to bring his brother, _his twin,_ to the island. Her master didn’t elaborate more on the details, yet she would follow through. After all, Mundus was their god.

The day she left the island arrived and Trish pouted when Nelo Angelo only stood at the small harbor. Making an awkward moment with only the seagulls that made noise.

“Alright, then. I’ll be back,” she saluted to him and started the engine, “Don’t fry that chicken too much now,” She teased as a goodbye.

The heavy hand that set itself momentarily on her head was unexpected.

Trish still touched the spot after the knight walked back to the castle. The rest of the journey to Devil May Cry filled with her own mulling on why it felt both like a plea and a warning.

\---

When Dante finally defeated Nelo Angelo, Trish had sucked in a breath.

It was strange, this sudden feeling of _sadness_ in her. Foreign in a way that it made her a little scared. Demons didn’t have souls, so why did she feel like this? And small anger too on top of it. The half-demon only managed to win because Nelo stopped when he saw the amulet dangling from his neck. It was enough of a window for Dante to gain the upper hand.

Trish left as Dante kneeled to pick the other half of the amulet. Not trusting herself to act rationally when there were these feelings messing inside. Amplified by the sheer shock and grief on the half-demon’s face whom she had lured to this place under her master’s order. It was disorienting and gnawed at her as she was lifted to the wall to be bait. Even more so when Dante yelled at her with grief and betrayal lacing his words after her confession.

"Don’t come any closer, you devil! You may look like my mother but you're nowhere close to her! You have no soul, you have the face but you'll never have her fire!"

And it _hurt_ to hear that.

Because she could feel and the matters of it had always been a human thing, right?

Maybe Mundus had not only created her to replicate the human woman, but to emulate one as well. It horrified her. Like a child that found out she had been tricked for her own parent’s amusement. And maybe it was both the mounting emotions and the sudden epiphany that made her pushed Dante.

It was a stupid and foolish move. Brash and tactless. She plunged herself into darkness for the sake of someone she barely knew. Yet that was a human thing to do if she ever read one. From the books she shared with Nelo Angelo.

Well, too late to change anything now.

Trish could feel herself fading.

\---

The sudden jolt to awakening was a welcomed one.

She touched the amulet, now complete, and felt the heavy weight of the Devil Sword Sparda. Dante was nowhere to be seen. The revived demoness had quickly stood up and headed out of the castle. Hoping to catch him by the pier.

The hallways were crumbling, the foundation having been hit by multiple battles on top of it. She briefly paused to look at the destroyed library one last time. From the corner of her eyes, Trish thought she saw movements, but put it on the rats scurrying around.

Most importantly now, she had to reach Dante.

\---

“There’s a vacant room next to mine. It’s yours if you want to stay,” Dante said as he beelined to the shop’s bar.

Trish took it.

Life with Dante was interesting. It was bound to be colorful when your roommate was a devil hunter. She experienced something new every day. Getting to know humans, understanding their antics and what was considered acceptable. Not to mention unravelling their never-ending vices. Trish wagered she wouldn’t get bored for a long, long time.

And she didn’t.

The jobs were slowly being handled by her alone as she got the hang of the business. It was a bonus that she was a demon herself. Made it easier to spot one and having the upper hand of using her power. Dante had allowed her to hold onto the Devil Sword Sparda, along with Luce and Ombra. While her lighting was great and all, it didn’t hurt to have weapons that could let her finish faster. Effectiveness and swiftness were the qualities of a good devil hunter. More reputation means more integrity which leads to more clients and money to flow.

Trish had her fun with Dante acting as the responsible parent whenever she was getting out of line. It was morbidly humorous. _She_ shared a face with the one on the picture at Dante’s desk.

\---

Then the novelty of living outside the island died down, and Trish started to notice a thing or two about Dante.

One, for all his talk about being careful, he loved to dive headfirst to the fray which made his lectures on the topic a bit useless without a good example. It didn’t seem to register to him that his bills could be lessened more if he didn’t ruin his clothes for the umpteenth time. Trish shook her head when he dramatically exterminated the groups of demons around them. He was like a wildfire that burned through, vicious but playful at the same time.

Trish sometimes heard the other hunters whispered how disconcerting to see his style and how gleeful the silver-haired man was every time a demon was slain.

Two, if he was not on a job, Dante was a mess. Not specifically about his state of place, but the overall heavy gloom. He carried it around like a blanket. A sure-fire way to make himself numb. Far more effective than whatever drinks he had at the bar. Trish never thought that someone could smell so much of _grief._ Dante could kill someone within his radius if he could somehow manifest it.

She would have been fine if Dante hadn’t been asking him about Nelo Angelo. Again and again and again. Always did under heavy influences. It rattled her to the point that _she_ was the one feeling sick at how much destruction Dante did to himself. The ever-present perfume were stale vomit and stinking alcohol. It didn’t help that as a demon, she had a sharper sense of smell.

Trish moved out when it was all too much. Distantly worried that she would choke to death. Having to live under the same roof as Dante. To witness the whiplash between the Devil Hunter Dante and _Dante_ himself. It was a breath of fresh air when she got her own apartment. Blocks away from Devil May Cry. For a time, she didn’t return. Hesitation weighing her limbs like lead. Trish felt bad whenever her steps stopped at the shop’s porch. The remnant of hurt resonated as Dante might have seen her leaving as another betrayal.

But every time she wanted to walk away, something stopped her. The ghost feeling of heavy hand lingering on her head.

Trish had since long discovered that Nelo Angelo was never free. Having a far worse fate than her. A slave and puppet humiliated into submission. The armor was not meant as a protection but a cage. To lock whatever left of Vergil’s soul. To let him scream in silence. To smother the fire of Sparda’s legacy.

She had been too young and blind to see that before. Didn’t understand the plea and warning Nelo Angelo tried to convey. Yet now that she understood, the truth could only chain her more lest she acted on it. Maybe it was her sentimentality for her first ‘friend’. Maybe it was sympathy for the brothers that were doomed. She couldn’t really explain, but it was enough to make her turned and treaded back to the shop.

It was the correct choice at the end.

Dante was huddled at the corner of the room. Long limbs folded tightly. She was prepared for an onslaught of words when his bloodshot eyes landed on her. Dante only buried himself more. It took colossal effort to get Dante to look at her. Her hands mimicking what Nelo did in the past.

Hers were not as large, though they cradled Dante’s face perfectly. The tear tracks were still damp and she could see his clouded eyes. Dante didn’t react to her, a lolling head with its strings cut. He was bigger than her, taller and wider, yet he fit into her embrace. Dante stuttered when she caressed him. The dam flooded her shoulder, salty rivers running down her arm. It should have disgusted her, but it didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Trish whispered to his ear.

Dante gripped her, shoulders minutely shaking before he sluggishly lifted his head again.

“…. please don’t leave me,” he whispered. Fragile and soft and meek.

Trish suspected he wasn’t really looking at _her._

\---

Trish and Lady shared the same camaraderie with Dante. The constant teasing and messing with his luck, along with the inherent need to keep a lookout for him.

But their similarity ended there.

Lady offered in the way of the humans. With heart and gentle comfort hidden from prying eyes. A soothing balm at the ready. Those appealed greatly to Dante’s human.

The demoness known as Trish couldn’t do that. Was not wired with pure human instincts, no matter how accustomed she was. There were just things that would never change. Instead of lamenting over it though, Trish utilized it.

Vergil may have warned her that Dante was his to defeat and while he was no more to claim the duel, Trish could still grant his plea.

 _Don’t hurt him_.

It replaced the echo Mundus left in her mind. Etching itself onto her soul. 

\---

Trish emptied all her magazines. The resounding gunfire filled the empty warehouse. It helped to wind her down from the adrenaline. The demon was nimble and light on its feet, running away even from her lightning. She spent the last three hours hunting it until its own strength failed.

Before she completely finished it, Trish had loomed over. Fangs lengthening and her shadow shivering. Her eyes were reptilian with her lips cracking wider. She had proceeded to rip through it. Starting with the stained shirt and shorts, then down to the shoeless feet, and up again to rip open the chest. Pain was something that every demon knew and used to; Trish had made sure it felt it down to the minutia of its useless being.

The magic that held the illusion inevitably shuddered, weakening as more and more flesh were pulled out. She let the creature morph back to its grotesque visage. Bulging and breaking the artificial human skin. When finally, the scum had completely showed its true form, Trish drove the Devil Sword Sparda straight to its head. The demon twitched as she repeatedly shot with Luce and Umbra.

Trish let the cool night air filled her lungs, slowing her breath, and retracting the claws and fangs. She grimaced at the blood and ichor on her clothes. She just bought them. Oh well, she could go harass Dante for a replacement after this.

The demon’s head was put on stake in front of the coven where it came from. They called themselves witches. A group of demons that lacked the brute strength but compensated for their skill in weaving simulacrums and spells. They were from the higher hierarchy. Distinctly insidious. Mundus had been their king, their loyalty lied with him since forever. But they were no longer powerful now, groveling on the Overworld thanks to Sparda’s deed.

They thought they could get their revenge on the last surviving descendant. What they did was only bringing their already depleted number further down. Trish had contemplated to finish them all yet decided against it as today was pizza night with the two at the shop. She didn’t want to be late. Thus, she only flared her power before walking away. Still bloodied and dirty with grime.

“Be grateful this is just a warning,” she had rumbled.

The rest of the coven scurried further into their cave, not daring to grab their dead. Willing to leave it to rot and be eaten by maggots. A fitting end, Trish gleefully thought.

It had been chance that she caught it sneaking around the block. A perfect disguise to almost fool even her if not for the rank scent. Trish initially decided to shoot it from the back, but a long look at its camouflage had made her blood boiled. It was uncharacteristic of her to let the target noticed her presence. She was cursing as she went after it. Yet the sheer _audacity_ it had chosen to conceal itself as had pushed Trish’s button.

Dante would not have noticed, too soft and unguarded to see through the deceit. He would have left his back open for an attack. Not strong enough to kill, but enough to _hurt._ Trish knew he would not pull the trigger. Until it was too late. Especially when he was coming home somber with the familiar bottle in hand.

The demon thought it could gamble on Trish’s empathy and won. What an idiot. It only served to make her more ruthless, more _vicious,_ in her rage. Unfazed by the teary eyes, the blood staining the white hair, and the feigned horror in the child’s posture. Trish was morbidly amazed by how well it mimicked his voice and wondered if it was as close as the real one. Before puberty hit and Dante’s vocal cord changed. It had been music to her ears when that voice was gone, replaced by the familiar screeching of wretched being from Hell.

Dante complained when Trish strutted into the shop. The wooden floor wet by the rain and the mess. She only shrugged, catching the towel Lady threw then headed to the shower. Ignoring Dante’s added complain about water bills.

If they noticed that she was eating more slices than even Dante that night, they didn’t voice it.

\---

_Don’t hurt him._

Over time it became her own little secret. Something that she took pleasure in keeping it. Making it a game to hide from Dante.

The devil hunter was either too dense or chose to ignore the fact that his place was safe nowadays. No demons lurking to get a jump on him or setting a trap. Trish suspected Dante just didn’t care enough to also notice that most of the time, his foes were typically those with more brawn than brain. That was fine by her. The point was to not let him know.

While his pile of fallen enemies mounted and earning him the ‘Legendary’ title, the more observant one would notice eyes in the shadows Dante casted. Vigilant and terrifyingly aware. It became somewhat of an unspoken rule for those who wished to harm. Strengthened by the constant reminders of heads on spikes as a warning. No one actually knew who it was, the ones that encountered it annihilated on sight.

Lady gave her knowing glances whenever she excused herself abruptly, only to come back sweating with a devilish grin. The human hunter only raised a brow and said nothing more. They had their own version of what it meant to watch Dante’s back after all.

_Don’t hurt him._

And Trish smiled softly when Dante’s demon purred as it finally noticed what the other demoness had been doing. It sent a small, grateful pulse before settling back into sleep. Dante himself stayed blissfully ignorant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took so many liberties with Trish's backstory but hey, DMC has a lot of creative freedom for writers ;D  
> It's fun to imagine Trish having met Vergil (in Nelo Angelo form) - which for me it's interesting. We know that Vergil was still there - he was too stubborn of the lovable asshole we all come to know lol. Most of these are inspired by [this lovely artist.](https://twitter.com/SapiMustDie)
> 
> I never see Vergil actually able to go through with killing Dante, several things allude to how he actually doesn't. My personal hc comes from the fact that Vergil wanted Sparda's power as a form of revenge on Mundus (he thought all his families were dead, so as the last son, it was his duty) but I can see how knowing Dante is alive kind of messed with his plan. Again, Vergil is not downright evil - he just has a very strict compass which is going to be a bit fucked in human terms lol. So, I'd imagine that he didn't like to 'defeat' Dante when he was not in control and would also care enough for no one to lay a hand on his brother. It's a Sparda thing lol (fun fact: Sparda broke Dante's arm in the light novel. Accidentally ofc, no demonic parenting guidebook out there.)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are my fuels and greatly appreciated!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	3. Morrison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: Some parts were linked to the anime - so that's a bit of a spoiler warning.
> 
> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Morrison met Dante before the shop had officially opened. The first time he saw the name, ‘tacky’ and ‘edgy’ were the words that came across. He hadn’t had high hopes for the young man in front of him. Too brash and tactless. Yet there was something that made Morrison willing to try his luck with this hunter who called himself Dante.

It didn’t take long for Morrison to see that Dante could exterminate double the numbers of demons in record time, despite his age. The good point could have been better if he had any clue in money management. The information broker had rubbed his forehead tiredly when Dante seemed to deplete the rewards in record time. Those were jobs that could last the business a good three months.

“Do you even know how to do basic accounting?” Morrison sighed.

Dante only shrugged, “Who needs it anyway, I’m doing just fine,” he said at the same time the lights went off. Again.

“…. Lord, give me patience,” Morrison sighed again before he put a lecture on Money Management 101. Dante almost dozed off for half the time, yet it paid off. Mostly. At least, now the shop could hold out having the electric and water bills going for a full month.

The man marveled how fast Dante spent them. Moreover, on pizza and strawberry sundaes. Doesn’t he know that humans need more than just those? He didn’t judge having comfort food every now and then, but these were just too much. It was a miracle the young hunter hadn’t suffered clogged arteries. A heart attack at twenty was not the way to go.

In hindsight, there were a _lot_ about Dante that he hadn’t yet known.

\---

The first thing he discovered about Dante had been a literal stab to the stomach.

Morrison widened his eyes, hands frantically pressing on the gaping wound. The noise in his ears didn’t help until Dante chuckled through. He whiplashed at the hunter. Eyes crinkled with reddened teeth.

“Don’t worry, Morrison,” he had then proceeded to pat his shoulder. “Nothing but a scratch.”

Nothing but-? He pushed Dante down again. “Don’t move too much! You’re bleeding, Dante!”

“Not anymore,” Dante shrugged his hands off, “Look.”

The man scoffed but directed his eyes to the wound anyway. Only to see the skin had mended, leaving wet blood. Morrison pat around the area. Pushing with his fingers, all the while scrutinizing. The blade had _pierced_ through him, the intestines almost _spilled_. 

“You…” Morrison took a step back, “You’re a demon?”

Dante snorted, lifting his ruined shirt away. It was his favorite one, damn it. He rubbed his head as he turned to Morrison again. “If we’re being technical, then I’m just half,” he gestured at him.

The dead demons surrounding them turned into ashes before Morrison found his brain whirled back to life again. It took the aid of vodka bottles and getting shit-faced drunk for Morrison to just… accept the fact at the end.

When asked why he rolled with it, Morrison always gave a shrug. People would comment a lot if he graced them with his answers. Not that were many people who actually _knew_ to begin with. But the very few who did, never seemed to be satisfied with the one he gave.

He kept on frequenting Devil May Cry to drop jobs. Sometimes with good pay and nice enough clients, at the other times, Dante would be glaring when he returned. Muck, ichor, and a deep relief to be over with the more hissy clients. Morrison tilted his hat, giving small smiles as he left the shop thereafter. The two built a business relation that turned out to be something good. It was rare for such a young shop to have steady inflow of jobs. Not to mention, landing a jackpot with one of the best information brokers out there. Morrison had competitions and many people wanted him as an asset. They were usually met with calm refusal. Those always commented why he bothered with such weird shop and its much weirder owner.

The second thing about Dante, he learned during one of the times Morrison came along on the job.

A bored rich man thought he could play with fire. Spoiler alert: he became the fuel. The witch was easily dispatched, a slight thing that Rebellion couldn’t handle. The poor bloke though, had been a bit tricky. Morrison chuckled when he saw Dante sighing. Putting his hands on his hips as he looked towards the magic circle. They looked at each other before shrugging.

“Should’ve brought a rain jacket,”

“I think that won’t do, you’re going to get drenched either way,”

“Oh, no. Correction on that, _we_ are,” Dante raised an eyebrow, “I’m going to need a hand.”

It took a couple more minutes with the writhing body on the floor as background noise before Morrison relented. He put away his hat, safely at the corner of the library. Then rolled his sleeves and stood at one of the pentagram points. The hunter also shrugged his coat along with his gloves. Morrison noted the faint scar on the left palm after Dante finished drawing the cancellation spell. His hands flicking off the blood.

“On my count, you grab the arm, alright?” Morrison nodded. Hunching himself at the ready.

At the mark of three, he dragged the body away. The accumulated ball of blood exploded, sparing nothing within its radius. The man immediately dropped the body to wipe away the splash. Especially at his face because he literally couldn’t see for a second. The dead man must have pissed the witch a hell lot more than he thought.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you just destroyed the circle?” Morrison sighed when they were decently clean again, “No extra mess to deal with.”

The hunter hummed with his back turned. Fingers tracing the book spines.

“The daughter is the client, right?” He pulled a book and examined it, “Figures she might want a body to bury.”

The lady had made it clear that she understood nothing could be done to undo the witch’s doing. Had even allowed the place to be burned if needed. Her father sounded like the usual egocentric businessman, but he surely did love his family.

“Wow,” Dante whistled with his hands still holding the book, “this family is rich _rich,_ alright,” he commented, “they have rare collections.”

“Are they worth much?” Morrison asked. It wouldn’t hurt to try to sell them, especially if they could get high bids.

“Yeah, wonder if the woman will be willing to give some?” Dante rubbed his chin, “As payment for the extra service to get the victim in one piece _and_ not having to set fire to anything,” he gestured around.

Morrison blinked, “You read?” Before he coughed.

“The audacity, Morrison,” Dante put his hand on his chest, “I’m a man of culture.” His grin didn’t sell the statement.

The reading materials scattered around the shop were… questionable. Things that didn’t exactly give good impressions. He thought Dante was just like any other youth he knew. Common tastes, a bit vulgar, and all that jazz. The usual types to unironically read those magazines. Cheap ones and mass produced that did nothing but strengthen tropes and stereotypes. So, Morrison couldn’t be blamed when Dante showed interest in the old tomes.

No, not interest, more like a familiar gleam. Something that indicated understanding when he looked upon them. There was an almost scholarly reverence as Dante kept on browsing the shelves. There was a giddiness to it. His back still turned. Shoulders hunched with the sounds of flipping pages. Morrison leaned on the wall. The spectacle was quirky, what with the usually loud man became contemplative. It gave away the feeling of a learned man. An academic despite the ridiculously huge broadsword.

It explained how he managed to go around the magic circle. Morrison might be unfamiliar with the comings and goings of spell works, but he knew it was a tricky one. Had become used to the nasty ones due to the daily supernatural requests. Had grown numb yet fascinated, nevertheless.

As dawn started, the two men lifted the body bag to the car. A wryly grateful smile graced the deceased’s daughter when she met them at her own residence. Morrison took most charge in the conversation, appealing to her on the now-abandoned collections. The young man beside him hadn’t had the finer art of negotiation down yet. The lady went silent for a while, looking between him and the hunter before softly shrugging.

“Alright, that is fine,” she nodded and added, “I don’t have any use for those books anyway. Father was… quite the eccentric man, you see.” There was morbid humor laced there. With the body placed on the far corner of the lobby.

They went back to the library and Morrison swore Dante reverted to a kid in a candy shop. He hugged the bundles close, unconcerned by the weight. The rest was held by Morrison, heaving a bit but would never admit it. The books filled the shop’s shelves. Some of the woods creaked under the new additions. He was about to leave Dante to it when the man pulled his stationaries.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to mark them all?” Morrison raised his brow. It would take days to do that. “They look good as it is. Aren’t you going to miss the covers?” Most was handcrafted, it would be a shame to do something on it.

Dante smiled lopsidedly, “Heh, it’s better so everyone knows it’s mine,” he twirled the pen. “I know what I’m doing.”

He still raised his brow but then hummed and they left it at that. The next few months, Morrison became used to the sight. Dante leafing through a book when there was a lull in the jobs. It gave another side to the man. Oh, the magazines were still there alright, Dante having the humor to pin some to the wall. Yet Morrison didn’t particularly care anymore. They now felt like an act; a prop to keep up the stage. With Dante as the actor who rested whenever they were alone.

Morrison didn’t hesitate to enter the antique shop when he passed by. He slid the wrapped thing across the desk and grinned when Dante looked at it dubiously. Nevertheless, he ended up finishing the extermination. He amusedly huffed when he opened the book, whistling as he looked up to Morrison. Well, no harm done, and incentives weren’t always bad now, wasn’t it? It became something that Morrison utilized against him. Never too much though because where was the fun in that? A new shelf joined its brethren as the years went.

The third and fourth things he learned about Dante were simpler.

His luck was so shitty, pardon his French. It was absolutely ridiculous the number of times Dante lost to a _coin toss._ The occurrences almost made him suspicious of a curse, but no, it was just Dante. It was a sad state when his tally was always glaringly zero. In pokers, he did better, and it was only marginally. The temptation to help him cheat out of sheer pity was great. Though Dante wouldn’t seem to appreciate it. Besides, he knew about his luck and steered clear of betting pools. His money was too important for the continued existence of the shop and his own comfort food fixes.

Morrison whistled lowly during the time he came over to sit at the bar. It was meticulously stocked. Awed curiosity to how a twenty-one years old already had such advanced and deep tastes in alcohol. One look at the bottles, it was hard to believe they belonged to this bombastic man who didn’t seem to have an attentive bone in him. Dante was well-versed even amongst those snobbish connoisseurs. Once rolling his eyes at a client who boasted his preferred poisons. The man had then been thoroughly chewed by the hunter. As passive aggressive he could be without losing the reward. That evening became a very memorable moment. Reminding Morrison of a high school drama. Mean and entertaining.

The fifth thing regarding the hunter came next, followed by the sixth.

As much as he steered away from the other’s private business, prolong exposure shed glimpses. Things that he could construe and believe to be a part of the man. Morrison never spoke or mentioned them out loud. Respect embedded deep and a certain level of priviness borne from good partnership. So, when Dante asked him to deliver some envelopes to the post office, Morrison only shrugged. The mission had come unexpectedly, and it was a demon slaying matter. One that could be counted on Dante taking it. A written note on a slip of paper was handed to the man before Dante hefted Rebellion and holstered his guns. Both did their tasks without much fuss. The demons were easy to dispatch and Morrison knew how to do something as basic as sending out mails.

Apparently, whatever it was made Dante to start asking him more to do the trip. Trusting him enough for it. By the feel of the thick envelopes, it didn’t take long for Morrison to guess the content. Not that Morrison would do something as low as that. He had his own codes, also the thought of making Dante unnecessary angry didn’t sound fresh. They knew each other quite well by now to throw it all out. Besides, it was not in his bone to lack honor and respect to his own person. So, Morrison only tipped his hat before putting the mail securely inside his pocket. The lady at the postal service was familiar with him by now, typing and confirming the address reflexively.

It was none of Morrison’s business, but he couldn’t help to be curious. Just a tiny bit.

Money was both important and dangerous – it was a lifeblood to folks. While Dante wasn’t that rash with money, already getting the feel of the coming and going of it, it wasn’t to say that he was vastly well-off. Demon hunting could be lucrative, that was true, yet Dante never stroke Morrison as someone with such basic of a goal. There was that glint, a shrouded intent, that permeated whenever Dante came across something messed up. Hooded gaze that flipped the curtain for a millisecond of peeking. Again, as curious as he could be, Morrison elected to ‘ignore’ it. Getting too attached and invested was never a good thing. Hunters were broken people in more ways than one. It took a weird sense of self to be even knee-deep in this field. Thus, Morrison never questioned it – the money with the faraway addresses and went on as usual.

Then came a case and it helped answered his inquiries about them.

Morrison hadn’t been there during the whole debacle. A phone call from Dante made him drove to the place despite the uneven road. Dante’s car was totaled and there was no way for him to walk back to the shop. Smokes still loomed over, and some paramedics were bustling about when he arrived. He found the distinct red coat at the corner of the building. The bundle in his arms stopped Morrison in his track.

“Morrison, you made it,” Dante gave a small wave. His voice was low, a whisper compared to the hustles.

He tipped his hat and looked at the baby, “Yes, the gas money is getting big by now,” he put away his tobacco.

Dante snorted, “Of course, it is. Don’t worry, just add that to my tab,” he adjusted the bundle.

“Is this your baby now?” Morrison raised his brow.

“Heck no,” Dante shook his head, “It’s the matron’s. Putting her in bed it’s not smart, what with some of the fires still alive. The demons were nasty bunch, Morrison. Are you sure you didn’t just give this job to destroy my beloved coat?”

“I don’t care an inch about your fashion statement, Dante,” Morrison smiled. “You destroy clothes just fine on your own.”

Lady and Trish weren’t the only ones depleting his wallet to buy clothes. His own undoing was partly to blame also. Getting stabbed and scratched and almost shredded demanded an influx of good materials. Things that Dante could have procured but never seemed to be fully stocked with. At least, he was dressed to the occasion nowadays. Morrison shuddered to remember how often he found Dante in just that coat and gun holster combination.

“Ah, crap,” Dante tsked and made to sway the bundle, “Little gremlin is waking up.”

“Why do you have him?”

“The lady has to talk with the authorities and making sure the other orphans are okay. They got pretty scared when I drove the demons out,” he tilted his head at the crowd. “She just thrusted this guy to me before marching to handle the rest.”

The man only hummed, then stepped away to light another tobacco. Seemed like they would be here longer, and he needed a smoke – Dante glared at him when he puffed. They went silent, Morrison hanging around with the nicotine fix, while glancing at Dante. It was a funny sight. His way of holding was angled awkwardly. Sometimes the bundle would start to wake or make small fuss and Dante would be quick to comfort him. His gloves were gone, one of the bare fingers being gripped by the baby. The small smiles and micro expressions were enough to make Morrison looked away. Too much of an uncanny valley.

“Ah, there you are,” a voice made them turned. A woman in her forties walked to them, “Thank you for looking after Nile, Mister Dante,” she nodded as Dante gave the baby back. “It’s a busy night and you’re kind enough to offer,” she smiled.

Dante coughed and looked away, “It’s nothing,” he avoided Morrison raised brow, “Anyway, about the payment,” he started.

“Oh yes,” the matron fumbled to reach her inner pocket, “I can’t give you all right now, but there’s enough to cover them in this cheque,” she gave him the paper slip.

Morrison peeked and sure enough, it was a hefty amount. More than the promised one he had been informed with. Did they have that many doughs to spare? He flicked his eyes at the ruined building and confused children. Orphanages ran on charities and government funding, while some did well from the others (like this one), it seemed impossible that they had that much to pay for only one man. Places like this would need every cent to keep the facility going, after all.

“Could I borrow your pen?” Dante asked. He took the proffered item and scribbled on the paper slip. It took a few seconds as he had no flat surface to write. When he finished, he flipped it to show the matron.

She was flummoxed.

“But that is even less than on the request I sent,” she tilted her head, “It doesn’t feel right. You spent half a day to completely make the place safe again.”

Dante shrugged, “Take it as a discount,” he said, “For the collateral damage and…. crippling your staff.”

The woman rubbed the baby’s back as she looked down, contemplative before sighing. “It’s not your fault, mister. You did what you had to do, and I should have know that John was up to something when he insisted to graph the symbols as charm,” she laughed wryly, “I was so blind to not realize he planned to summon a demon with the children as sacrifices.”

And it was this kind of thing that had made most hunters tired. Snapping in worst case scenarios. The numbness was built on fucked up experiences, yet the mind could only take so much before giving up. Which was why this business appealed to the hardy and daredevil ones only. Morrison knew several colleagues who retired early with a few ending up in a ward. Human vices and demonic messes were a cocktail of poison and adrenaline high.

“No one would have known,” Dante folded the paper and put it in his pocket, “You’re not at fault there,” he repeated her own words. He patted her shoulder and after giving a light poke to the baby, he walked away.

“But, mister-“

“Excuse me, ma’am, but it’s quite useless to persuade him any other way,” Morrison stopped her.

“He did so much though,” she muttered and sighed yet again, “I wanted to say that no one is blaming him. The police are taking John away and I don’t care about him anymore. He deserved what’s coming.” There was anger in her voice.

“Like I said, it’s useless to make him take the money,” Morrison said and moved to catch up.

“Mister,” she called out.

“Yes, ma’am?” Morrison turned to her.

The matron gulped down and secured the baby more, “Could you tell him that we’re grateful? We can fix the building more now and please tell him not to be guilty over this?”

_Guilt?_

Morrison frowned a bit and only nodded before he returned to the parking lot. Dante was already there, leaning on the hood. They didn’t talk more and Morrison turned the radio off as Dante snoozed off. When they reached Devil May Cry, Dante promised to give him the commission by tomorrow afternoon. He waved and entered the shop, leaving Morrison in the car with the still running engine.

He lit up another tobacco as he drove away. Not intending to go home just yet, driving around the town for the time being. His mind went back to the matron’s words.

_Guilt, huh?_

Now that he thought about it, wasn’t that the word he had been searching for? It was there at the back of his mind whenever he caught Dante handed the envelopes. There was no other people Dante was indebted to aside from Lady. If it were any other more, Morrison would know. Dante didn’t specifically care if he knew a bit about his monetary expenses. But this one had long eluded him, the addresses and the amounts always constant no matter how low the jobs could be. Two recipients and two spending sinks. There was always a flicker of it. Of guilt. He suspected Dante didn’t realize he did so subconsciously. For what Morrison had no clue, but it wouldn’t be far-fetched if it was something similar to this latest job. A twisted guilt that made him sent out money as an apology.

It alluded to a burden. A private load that Dante never wanted to tell. It spoke of a past and grief mistakes. Those were the only things Morrison could conclude without twisting Dante’s image into something else. Yet over time, with this new discovery, Morrison could also suspect the difference in Dante’s motivation.

The red hunter held something tangible. A secret code that pushed him to take up arms against demons. There was _hatred_ in there, buried deep by pure enjoyment and profit. Sometimes, Morrison saw the jagged sharps. Plucked out in the lowest moment of a request and pushed right back in before he could inspect further.

There was a veil that Dante used. Swaying and draped all over him. It reminded Morrison of a hedgehog. Not as sharp as the animal’s spike but served the same purpose. To not let people close, to not be near, to not expose the soft underbelly. Dante was anything but weak, Morrison knew that. Though there was a certain softness exuded. Scared and shy to come out lest it got chewed up. It was ironically a good thing. The world wasn’t perfect – it was ugly and merciless – Morrison was intimate with the fact. Yet he also understood there was beauty in it, trapped between ambers of time and innocent pleasures that could be enjoyed.

Maybe that was why it was both weird and warm when Dante showed that side of his. The way he handled the baby back at the orphanage; all gentle and careful. On another time, he had to deal with possessed children. To see a man who was well-versed in brute strength and demonic prowess knelt on the floor. Unflinching and surprisingly wise to face the feral humans was a sight to behold. Dante tried meticulously hard to make sure the pain went away fast. Letting them crowd his space even after the demon’s hold was gone. The job had gone on for another two days as he helped them resettle into normalcy.

Morrison wouldn’t lie that it made a twinge in his heart. The gushing warmth was borderline disgusting, though he didn’t brush it off. It was something he wouldn’t tell Dante. The hunter might be thinking it as a joke or would awkwardly wheedle away. So, Morrison kept to himself. About how blatantly oblivious Dante was as he was privy. The man could never put a complete picture, not unless Dante allowed it. The devil hunter wouldn’t give him such luxury.

Morrison was fine with that.

At the end of the day, Dante strangely earned an added respect and a deep awe from the man.

\---

The respect and awe pertained. Forming some sort of ‘partnership borderline friendship’ between the two. The things Morrison picked up had also helped in his comprehension of Dante. It was mostly professional and none of them had any inclination to open up about personal matters. That was all fine and dandy for Morrison.

Until it didn’t. Kind of.

After Dante returned from a place called ‘Mallet Island’, the shop had turned into something _off._ There was a steady decline that he could see, and it arguably grated him. Gnawed the back of his mind as an itch that had no place to be. Per the usual, Morrison only shrugged, the motto ‘mind his own business’ that he had lived by for so long. Dante was taking jobs normally, either from him or immediate clients. The blond huntress tailing after him to learn the ropes. There was no surprise when he caught Trish frying a few hounds with the lightning because of course, she was also a demon. Morrison just rolled with it; she was still alive, now, right? Which meant Dante didn’t see her as a threat. Though it was interesting how she was deadly similar to the picture on the desk, but again, Morrison said ‘not his business’ and proceeded as usual.

The _off-ness_ was still there. Amplified even. It took several more months before he finally figured out why.

The shop was silent. No music, no plucking of guitar or the beating drums. Nothing but pure silence. Dante sat with feet propped on the table and a magazine covering his face. The place felt hollow and to Morrison’s own cold realization, lacked a life. There was no _zest,_ no fire, not even sparks that was so intricately _Dante._ His own presence had been enough to fill the whole room. Magnanimous and nonchalant in its strength. Yet now it was missing, leaving behind a bland mix of wood and stones. There was no _occupant_ here, Morrison was only a spectator who entered a deserted stage. Even a funeral was better than this place.

He suspected Dante knew it too. If the in-between spikes of activeness were anything to go by. He became sporadic, taking jobs left and right until he needed to lay down and gone for weeks on end. Dante said it was nothing and Morrison thought that was such a bad lie. A half-assed excuse by a desperation to get away. To just be busy and to do things that would make noises. It was there in the way Dante looked hopeful for brimming schedules like an addict. It was there when Morrison could only offer one or two jobs which led to the hunter prowling around even when before he was unwilling to do just that.

The futility of it was pitiful, to say the least. Dante tried to scream under the ocean. Where he placed himself in the deepest trench and couldn’t comprehend that it was below even the abyssal zone. The worst thing was that he kept quiet about it. Morrison sometime felt a bit miffed how low Dante trusted people around him. Lady had only sighed and rode away, while Trish elected to leave him when nothing seemed to work. He couldn’t blame the women; he was also beginning to feel irritated by the sudden sluggishness Dante loved to drag around nowadays. He had stopped with the job taking frenzy some weeks ago and he just… stayed.

So still. So brooding. So _burdened_ by something invisible.

And Morrison was _worried_ when it had gone on. That was something he didn’t expect. The rush of empathy he held for the man. Maybe he was getting old, his father always commented how sentimental we could be as we aged. Whether it be good or bad. Morrison didn’t particularly give a shit about philosophy at the moment. Not when Dante was gladly eating himself away. He was self-destructing fast.

It was mostly a chance that he came across the job.

The girl was from the nearby orphanage. She was young, a slight eight years old with too many snarks and eyes filled with longing. Morrison smiled. Patty Lowell would be a good distraction for Dante. Granted the trip to the mansion would only take two days at most, but he would take it. A gamble set against Dante that had no fucking clue. The coin toss Morrison did was just there to drive his own win. The girl would be in safe hands, Dante was more than capable, even when he was not completely there. As the car drove away, Morrison locked the shop and walked, a list of jobs that could potentially distract Dante more in mind.

Turned out, the job was quite the tell and Patty became a permanent fixture. She was there almost every day, pestering and harassing Dante to which the man just sighed. It was like a resigned older brother who couldn’t exactly complained since well, there were no parents for the both of them, now was it?

It was quite the turn of event and Morrison just threw the list away. Patty did a fine job just being her snarky and sassy self, he couldn’t ask for more. It was… good. Not perfect, but Morrison could confidently say he had hit jackpot.

\---

As the years went, opinions flowed from one mouth to another. Devil May Cry was one of the few go-to for people who needed handyman in demon extermination or any other paranormal stuffs. They said you could either go up to the shop or find the ‘contact’ in bars. A few would advise the immediate approach, yet some would recommend going to the latter first. You couldn’t exactly know if the owner would take the job, there were rumors, after all. About how one man got kicked out for an assistance with a ritual, how one woman was scared out of the vicinity after she asked for a tracking spell, there was even another man coming out with a black eye. Two women and a man with a hat were the culprit they said, quoting that ‘customer service’ didn’t apply there.

It’d be better if you just got over the rigorous ‘screening’ of clients the Morrison did than risking getting the same treatment. While Devil May Cry never heralded a naïve moral compass, the shop had its own set of rules. Ones that even the nastiest and seediest underbelly that called themselves humanity begrudgingly respected. No funny business and if you did something questionable as a job request, then sorry, buddy.

Morrison had more than enough side-eyes and muttered curses, but who gave a shit. They were lucky to deal with him, rather than the crazy bitch- sorry, ladies. He’d say that he was even the nice guy in most situations.

He puffed out a smoke and smiled to the teen, “Alright, I can take you there now or do you want to make an appointment?”

The girl blinked, “You’re taking it?” She said, straightening up.

“Of course,” Morrison grabbed his hat, “Can’t have a nest in your new home, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true, but I thought, you know,” she rubbed her head, then proceeded to look around and lowered her voice, “I heard bad things when the client irked the owner.”

“Pay them no mind, miss,” Morrison motioned for her to follow, “Those are just rumors, and not entirely true either,” he wiped away the ashes.

She trailed after him outside, “Then what actually happened?” She asked while ducking her head under the light shower.

Morrison turned, inhaling another smoke before answering, “Let’s just say they _were_ the bad things. Not the other way around. Now come on, it’s only a couple blocks more,” he said.

When they reached the door, the teenager was rightfully jumpy. She flicked from side to side, noticing the neighborhood. The neon light didn’t help her unease and it was understandable. The rugged charm was not for everyone, after all. Especially not to a proper, but marginally well-off girl from the suburbs.

“Don’t worry,” Morrison said to her fidgeting, “He doesn’t bite,” he pushed open the door.

“If anything, he’s quite the gentleman, miss.”

\---

It was something that had become a code of conduct for Morrison. The meticulous choosing of jobs and clients. It could be tiring he wouldn’t lie but it was rewarding in a sense.

The initial objective had been ‘to distract’ and it morphed into a ‘stick and rope’ kind of thing. He would pull the interesting cases that were strange and hassling with the quicker ones which only needed good bashing. He juggled the varieties and kept a lookout for the unsavory ones – the demonic rituals, killing requests, stalking, dealing with the questionable bunch. For the umpteenth time, he lamented how many stupid people there were. The shop was there to _eliminate_ not _enable_ demonic entities or any other crap they pulled. It was literally in the job description.

That was just how it was. Unfortunately.

Morrison was confident to say he was doing a fine job. With his own power and all the limitations of a man such as himself. The women were more aggressive and their own brands of ‘shrewd protectiveness’ – he couldn’t be like them. But this he could, and he was good at it.

Dante was more than capable than all of them combine, he wouldn’t see him as anything else – that would be a grief mistake. But even he couldn’t cover all his bases alone, no matter how much it alluded to be. Lady and Trish had their own fronts, Morrison had his. If his measly attempt could only do so much, he didn’t mind. It was enough to watch out for the hunter in the smallest way possible. To steer away from the people who wanted to abuse such power, to put away unnecessary emotional baggage. Most importantly, to not let them play with the man.

A man that was a mishmash of brooding and cathartic fun. A man so polarizing to give headaches. A man that was too damn nice sometimes. A man that deluded himself to the point of depressing loneliness.

He was better now. Time and life would do that. Dante walked with the usual swagger and his flamboyance made its debut – he was back. As closed and as opened as ever. A diabolical being to the end.

Morrison smiled though. This was better than nothing. Better than the alternatives. Honestly, he was just glad _Dante_ was there again.

He would never admit it out loud. That would be too mushy and cringy. It was not his style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can take my hc of Dante is actually a closet book reader from my cold dead hands. The scattered books on 5 make me think that he likes to read - their family had been affluent and rich enough for a good education, it was just that Vergil was more of the nerd than him, didn't mean he was stupid, Dante just liked to be more active. 
> 
> Also, I always see Morrison be 'that' friend who is quite intuitive and extends his kindness to only a select few. Most of the story I made up since it was a fun little imagining how they got to be close. I think the fact that Dante gave the shop's deed at DMC5 meant that he trusted him enough lol - and Morrison was the one who brought Lady and Trish to work with Dante at the Qliphot so I'd like to entertain the notion that he cares for Dante. He probably looks out for him through the selection of clients :D 
> 
> The headcanon of Morrison finding Patty to distract Dante is from [ this Tumblr post.](https://sevi007.tumblr.com/post/181486388377/btw-while-pondering-absent-mothers-in-dmc-there)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are my fuels and greatly appreciated!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	4. Patty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note ahead: there are some parts from the anime as Patty had been mostly coming from that side anyway. 
> 
> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Patty loved Dante.

Truly, deeply from the bottom of her heart. How could she not? He had been there far longer than anyone, even her mother. Their meeting might not be out of choice, yet Patty was glad. It was by chance that Morrison found her. Looking for someone that could take her to the mansion. No one had offered, not after she pushed them away. Patty couldn’t help it; they all were rude and rough. Eyes gleamed with the greediness that sent shivers down her spine. It was a relief when Morrison took her to Devil May Cry.

“It’s okay, young lady,” the man had said, “He might be sour-looking but he’s a good knight.”

And while first impression really didn’t sell, after the whole fiasco went down, Patty found herself gravitating to the shop. The place was dingy, somber, and _completely_ lacked taste. It was also awfully dirty. Ugh. The girl rewarded herself with the strawberry sundae for the hours spent cleaning and redecorating the space. Patty grinned at the dejected look Dante threw to the empty glass.

It became a routine for Patty. Surprised that Dante _let_ her come and go as she pleased. There was nothing else that she did, aside from school. Some people found it weird that a child hung around such a grim shop. Patty didn’t care. No one had wanted her presence far longer than needed. Dante was the first. It was…. nice.

Patty held that warmth. Sometimes it lingered in the background when she bickered with Dante over useless things. In another, it was at the forefront as they enjoyed strawberry sundaes and pizza on rainy days. All those moments Patty treasured. As ridiculous as it may sound, every moment shared was worth its weight in gold. How cliché, right? But it was true, Patty loved him, and she knew he did as well. Even when his way of showing it was strange and absurdly covert.

\---

Patty had given up counting how many times Dante pulled her hat down whenever he needed to shoot something or hack at them. Seriously, she had seen him got stabbed and lived, demons getting chopped up wouldn’t hurt her poor child’s eyes. The annoying part of it all was that Dante wasn’t joking. He was dead serious. There was no ghost of smile when she righted the hat again. There was no stopping him, too tall and with nimble hands. Patty huffed and left it that. Whatever helped him sleep at night, she supposed.

When her mother would be away or late due to work, Devil May Cry was her haven. The house was safe and comfortable, that was true, added with how Patty had her own room and could decorate the place however she liked, there was nothing wrong with it. Though she missed the sense of familiarity, along with being around Dante. Morrison, Lady and Trish were usually present at the shop as well. The adults never treated her less for her age, except from the drinks and the more vulgar matters that Patty dutifully steered clear. She wasn’t naïve, years living in an orphanage was not the best in terms of example when growing up, you see, but understood that these people would never let her know if they could help it. (The gambling and pools and bets not included.)

Since she was in school, now registered in one of the better ones since her mother and her lived together, the study load was different. Nina was patient, knowing full-well her daughter needed to adjust, and besides, it wasn’t as if she could demand good grades out of her. A small chasm still remained between them – borne out of questionable decision and years of separation. Patty was the one who had offered the olive branch.

The option for an extra tutor turned down in favour of her own parent teaching her. It did make a difference – they studied more than just school subjects and about each other. Talking way into the night and Patty then tucked into bed. The mending relationship between them was slow but sure, fortunately enough for Patty to trust Nina about her difficulties making friends. It was hard, Patty was straight-forward and cared little about being proper. A nightmare and a half to her teachers and peers. Three times she had arguments with both parties. Either out of defence for another student or when she thought differently than them. Patty was too free-spirited and street smart for her own good sometimes.

In times when Patty was too annoyed to the point of having her concentration cut short, Nina let her be. Letting off steam and doing her own things. The woman soon discovered Patty would visit the shop of the devil hunter. Ranting on and on until she felt better. It was quite a wonder how the two became acquainted. Morrison told her all about the bodyguard job he had saddled Dante with. There was a glint of amusement in the man’s eyes as he recounted the events to her. Dante, for the most part, seemed to acknowledge her presence, yet brushing her off at the same time. Indifferent, saved for the quick nod whenever he saw her together with Patty.

She had a feeling she would always be a stranger – only acquainted by proxy through Patty herself. That was alright. It was enough to see Patty being happy and content around him, and from what she construed from Morrison’s tales, Dante was… fond.

Patty plopped down on the sofa again. It was late afternoon after school. Dante just returned from a job, sluggishly divesting his weapons and coat before sitting down next to her.

“What are you doing?” He asked while he rested his head. Papers and a book along with Patty’s bunny stationaries were spread on the table.

“Homework,” Patty answered, making no move to continue. She had ink smudges on her face, courtesy of her own rubbing in confusion and frustration for not getting the subject.

“You haven’t even moved from question two,” Dante pointed.

“I know,” she huffed.

“Need some help?”

“From you? No, thank you. I’m fine, I can do this just fine,”

Moments passed. Thirty minutes in Patty silently screamed into her folded arms. The notebook was then thrusted to the hunter’s face.

Dante raised his brow, mirthful, “I don’t know what you are trying to do,” he said. A smirk forming.

Patty only pouted, looking anywhere except him. She slightly waved the notebook and twirled her pen. She wouldn’t ask in words.

“Alright then, your highness,” Dante chuckled. “Come on, we can do this at the desk. Much easier there,” he said.

Let it be known that Patty hadn’t expected Dante as being _that_ smart. It was truly something shameful and she actually felt bad she had initially, subconsciously, considered him to be anything but. His explanation eclipsed the teacher’s so much, it was borderline ridiculous. Oh, how she wanted to see Mister Jacob’s face if she boasted – but she made do with the expression he made when she passed his class with flying colours.

Dante became her de facto helper-slash-tutor. Not for all subjects, of course, but enough that Patty steadily improved. He was nonchalant about it, giving zero care about her report cards. Lady, on the other hand, ruffled her hair when she read them. All the while shooting knowing glances with Trish at the exasperated Dante. The two loved to do that to the poor man. Morrison shrugged, and seemed to expect the outcome – commenting about ‘finally those reading times paid off’. Patty raised her brow at that quip.

As she moved up in the world (okay, school, but she loved to be dramatic here), Dante was still there. Maybe not all the time, but that couldn’t be helped. She also frequented the shop less when there were finally classmates that she could comfortably called friends. Having a group that shared your interests and having their own lives was a novel experience. They went out to eat ice cream, do school projects or just generally hang around after classes were dismissed. Patty found she had a knack to be a good conversationist.

Dante hummed and let her ramble about her days. Flipping through magazines with his feet propped up. He made general comments here and there but was absolutely clueless to the current trends and slangs. Granted, their social circles were vastly different. Patty never missed any opportunity on making him confused and weirded out by her group’s antics. It was a bit unfair though, how much Dante knew about her friends yet only knowing little about his.

The hunter had only shrugged when she voiced that.

“It’s boring for you,” he said.

“Why? You never try to tell me, Dante,” she whined.

He patted her head, “Trust me, there are things that you won’t be able to handle,” he smirked over the desk. She pouted and proceeded to eat his sundae.

When Patty told her mother about it, Nina hummed. “Maybe he was telling the truth,” she said while stirring the soup. “You know, Patty, adult life can get a bit empty sometimes,” she sighed, “which is why you should cherish your friendships so you all will still be good friends even after you graduate.”

Having to live in hiding, fearing, and pushing people away. Even your own daughter. Well, Nina at least understood Dante from that point of view. The man was solitary, that much she could see. Standing out and never quite lodged into anything, like a wrong puzzle piece. Fleeting but glaringly obvious. It was hard not to turn your head when he was in the room.

“Maybe you can go with him on the weekends?” She suggested. “You said it yourself that you two rarely hang out with each other anymore. There is a new movie premiering this Saturday, by the way.”

It took only a few seconds for Patty to take her up on that. The next day, she rang the shop.

\---

Sometimes, Patty could see how much Dante indulged her.

Sometimes….

Well, _sometimes_ , Patty hoped she was making an effort for the smiles. She coveted those the most from him.

\---

From watching movies, Patty dragged Dante to accompany her shopping. It was a plus since she was small and needed help with the bags. The devil hunter only sighed, following her around shops. They made quite the sight. There was giggling when either Lady, Trish or both caught them. It wasn’t always about clothes. Patty liked arts and crafts, frequenting many art stores for her supplies. Her creations were often janky and questionable but hey, she loved doing it.

The weekend was their ritual. If not for buying things, then just sitting at the usual diner or at times to the dessert shop. They both had a sweet tooth so that trip was often bound to be memorable. The owner already knew them so well with their orders. She often smiled, amused at the lack of care Dante exhibited with the sundaes. Him and Patty battled with their spoons for the sake of making a scene.

He steered clear from her friends though. Rarely making any move to greet or even wave. In turn, her group didn’t pay him any attention. Only the initial curiosity and hushed whispers. They treated him as non-existent, to which Patty didn’t know how to feel. It wasn’t due to Dante looking down them. Oh no, it wasn’t that, she knew. Her red friend was quite the anti-social when the situation called for it. Birthday parties or any sort was a no-no from him. Tried she may be Dante would find any excuse not to and procured help from Morrison. The man tilted his hat apologetically whenever she found him.

Well, that was fine by her. It wasn’t as if she wanted to brag about knowing a dangerous hunter. There was nothing of the sort. Patty just liked Dante. That was all.

They went about their own life until one day, at the start of spring break, her mother couldn’t go with her on a trip.

“No,” Dante said.

“Awe, come on, Dante! Look, we can take the car and we can stay at those seaside hotels! Please? I’ve been looking forward to this ever since January,” she pleaded. Batting her eyelashes at him.

He swivelled his chair around, “Nope, sorry, have an oncoming job from Morrison,” he waved her away.

On cue, Lady swiped in, “Oh, about that job,” she chirped from the pool table, “I can manage on my own. Turns out, it won’t take long and the client is much more comfortable with a woman hunter,” she said.

Dante tsked, “I’m gonna call Morrison. Think I remembered him mentioning another job,” he reached for the telephone.

“That one about the mansion thingy? Trish called dibs on that,” Lady smiled as she hit the ball.

“So, nothing more?” Dante sighed. “That’s just great,” he crossed his arms.

Lady winked at Patty who put both hands on the desk, “See? That’s why you have to come with me! Come on, it doesn’t sound boring, right? The sea, the hills, good food, and I won’t bother you too much. So, you can become a dried-up fish for all I care,” the girl tilted her head.

“You don’t even have to pay for the rooms,” Dante opened an eye at her, “and no gas money. I’ve been saving a lot for this trip.”

His other eye opened also at that implication. Still, he didn’t look interested. Patty huffed, hands on her hips.

“You don’t have anything to do, Dante,” Lady slid up to them. “Me and Trish are going to be gone for the next week so no pizza parties there and Morrison coming up empty is highly likely. Given the lull in the season,” she shrugged.

It took several more staring and micro expressions exchanged between the two adults for Dante to sigh yet again. He nodded to Patty, standing up to collect his bag (because Patty would pester him about wearing only one set of clothing) and went to his bedroom. Patty’s whoop and cheers along with her high-five with Lady resounded through the shop.

They dropped by Patty’s house to pick her bag and bid her mother goodbye. Nina’s own suitcase already set at the doorway. While Patty went upstairs, she and Dante stood awkwardly.

“Here,” Dante picked her case and put it in the trunk of her car. Patty was behind them, hefting two bags into Dante’s own car.

“Thank you,” Nina said. He only grunted, turning to Patty who was brimming with excitement.

“I’m going, mom!” She waved, “I’ll bring back a souvenir! Have a safe trip,” she grinned.

Nina had been informed by a curator about her father’s leftover research books. Things that were important to him. They couldn’t be left as they were in some public library. It was regretful the meeting date coincided with her daughter’s promised outing. Dante taking her place was weird from an outsider’s point of view, but she knew better. Nina smiled, waved back and briefly caught Dante’s eyes on the rear-view mirror. 

They nodded.

Spring breeze blew at their faces as Dante steered the car along the highway. The road was relatively empty, saved from a few trucks and buses passing by. The man didn’t press the gas more, enjoying the slow traffic. Patty for the most part busied herself with her new-fangled camera. Another one of her hobbies. Having to develop the pictures took time, but she liked the vintage aspect. There was basically no one around that would comment, especially not Dante. He only raised his brow and pushed her hat down when she snapped pictures of him. The resounding sigh was met with Patty’s cheeky grin.

The sea was a bit far from the city. They passed several small villages, ranging from being hopelessly empty with boredom peppering the place to the more festive ones. Several times they made a stop, if only to rest, use the restroom and petrol station. Patty spent browsing the minimarket’s stalls. Dropping unholy number of snacks to the passenger’s seat while she put on the new cheap sunglasses. She put an electric blue one on Dante – the man shrugging then fixed it to rest comfortably on his nose. Twice they rented a motel, taking a breather before revving the engine again. During their stays, Dante discovered how savage the little girl was concerning bugs. It definitely dashed his own teasing (he shuddered at how lightning fast she honed on one of those critters).

Three days later, they finally reached the seaside town. There was no beach, more like a congregation of rocks when the waves receded during the day. The weather was nice enough, the clouds thin, and the sun didn’t shine too harshly. The surrounding buildings had colourful paints, with a touch of old age and salty wind. Dante already felt the stickiness that came from living near the ocean while Patty opened her meticulously planned itinerary. The townspeople were out, bustling their usual business, with a few tourists here and there. Some of them turned at the newcomers. A tall, looming man in red with a questionable guitar case and a girl that was all frilly and pink. Their eyes followed the duo as they entered the hotel. All the while, the little lady chattering away with her hand pulling his coat.

True to Patty’s words, she left Dante alone after they had checked in. Depositing their items and immediately left. She had her map to guide her. Gazing at several landmarks while trying the town’s seafood. She usually passed the main road where the hotel was located, fading in and out from the room’s window. Dante found he kept an eye open whenever the familiar blonde hair passed. He lazed around on the bed (it was way too comfortable for his own good) and didn’t wake until night-time. Then, Patty returned and pestered him to go out and eat dinner together. Well, there was the added incentive of a free food so he willingly obliged.

They ate quite a lot, surprising the waiters how much a ten-years old could eat that much. Dante seemed to drink more beers than normal, but eight glasses in, he stopped. Both knew it would take more than that to make him moderately drunk. He shrugged, then picked at her fries which made her picked at his fish. The two huffed and Patty grinned. As the evening rolled by and the restaurant started to open their bar, more people filed in. She distantly noticed how Dante glanced at them, eyes slightly narrowed before he finished his food. There was a firm tug when he mentioned he was still tired.

“You should sleep too. You haven’t rested for real after the long ride,” he said without looking at her. Patty didn’t have much to say as he swiftly stood up. The large and warm hand on her back while they went back to their room. Dante was quiet all the way. Seemingly relaxed only when he plopped back down onto his bed. He was out like a light, deaf to Patty’s voice as he snored. She tilted her head, confused but decided to let it go. After a quick cleaning and brushing her teeth, she snuggled into her own bed. Dante wasn’t kidding, the bed was soft and calling for her. The toll of travelling by car finally dawned on her and she slept. There was small rustling, then the lamp was turned off and she felt the blanket moved to cover her more.

The next morning, Patty, refreshed from a good night’s sleep, proclaimed she would follow a tour. Dante nodded, waving her away when she gobbled down breakfast. He had still been munching on a toast when the girl ran out.

The tour was full. Being small in stature, she had to weasel her way to the front to actually _see_ what the guid was pointing at. Along with making out what he was saying. The scenery was marvellous and the ancient forts with its own castle and statues were majestic. Still standing even after people left them and had no further use. The elements wearing some of the structures down.

Everything was good and all, but she couldn’t help feeling few stares at her back. Not to mention, she now realized she should have asked Dante to come with. Taking a photo by your lonesome was a hassle, she was too awkward to ask the others. The tour was lovely, yet she kind of wished there was someone beside her. It would be more fun if she had a partner to talk with and to point out interesting views.

And, she rubbed her shoulder, it would feel safer.

There was a small group that kept on following her. Standing some metres away. They hadn’t done anything, but Patty grew in a bigger town than this one and was honestly unsettled. She tried to pay them no mind, making sure to be with the crowd. There was a seagull perching on top of the spire that caught her attention though, which made her steps behind the tour group. She had then widened her eyes and bit her lips, preparing to book it. A hand, familiar in its leather glove, poked her head and she turned.

“Oh, Dante!” She said. Relieved.

The hunter huffed, offering his hand and they made their way across the courtyard. From the opposite end, the little gathering dispersed. Becoming uninterested and resumed to whatever it was they were doing. She sighed. They caught up to her group in no time. All the while, she hadn’t let go of her grip.

“Do you want to take a picture?” Dante’s voice startled her.

She looked up, “H-huh?”

He nodded to a spot, “Want to take a picture there? You have a camera, might be a waste if you don’t have yours in,” he said.

They ended up going off on their own. Patty gave him pointers on how to take the pictures. One roll was already full now. She was confident those would turn out good, there was no beating the fun feeling and enjoyment when you have someone to spend your vacation with after all. Dante was decent in using the camera and even managed to snap few good ones when Patty wasn’t looking. They ate dinner at the same place again. This time, Patty put down the utensils first and finished her meals faster. They returned earlier. Passing several youths who were on their way to drink and have a wild evening.

“Where do you want to go today?” Dante asked over the whirring hairdryer. It was late morning.

Patty turned the appliance off, “Oh? You’re coming?” Then proceeded to detangle his hair.

“It’s a nice town,” he winced when Patty attacked a stubborn knot, “Ouch, hey, don’t make me bald. Anyway, yeah, might as well. Sleeping around all day can be boring,” he said and winced again when Patty brushed his locks.

“Hold still!” She pouted, slapping his hand away. “You’re going to tag along, so I need to make sure you look presentable,” she muttered while her hand rummaged through her pouch for another comb. “Ugh, you really are not taking care of your hair,”

“It’s just hair,” Dante quipped and ignored Patty’s rant about the importance of healthy hair and fine care.

She combed and brushed, taking more time than her own. The early morning had been spent on her own hairstyling, loosely curled and shining. There was a jab of indignation when Dante came out of the bathroom and roughly towelled off. The heathen. Doesn’t he know people would kill for that hair? She lamented inwardly. It was kind of unfair, how soft the strands were with the silver complimented him so well, Patty was amazed. He pulled it off (too) well, even with his brooding face.

Deigning Dante would possibly dislike any accessory, she left the hair as it was after making sure they were dry, and nothing was out of place. The want to play more with those strands was strong though, she wasn’t going to lie.

They started their day by visiting a workshop on wood turning. The local folk claimed it was their expertise, passed down through generations, and was more than happy to show them. Patty’s wood bowl turned out a bit crooked with the mouth more oval rather than circle. She was proud of it. Her travelling partner broke several logs and not wanting to touch anymore while she was finishing her bowl. She just giggled, then proceeded to demand they have sandwiches for lunch.

They had been happily munching when a familiar feminine voice called out to them.

“Well, well, nice seeing you here,” Lady smiled.

“Lady!” Patty gasped, putting her sandwich on the bench. “How do you find us?” She asked.

The huntress lifted a shoulder, “Eh, just finished the job and thought I’d take the scenic route,” she answered. “By the way, you seem to be enjoying this, Dante,” she rested her arm on his head.

He shook but Lady didn’t budge. “Well, better take this rare opportunity before returning to my favourite people bugging me at my own shop,” he looked at her.

“What can I say, I’m such a delight to be around,” she smirked.

The rest of the trip had an added cheer with Lady on board. Such as was the saying ‘the more, the merrier’. They went shopping thereafter. Patty knew that she could only buy a limited number since she used her own money, while Lady was being glared by Dante who dared her to try to abuse his wallet. He trailed after them, only waiting outside and leaned against the shop’s wall. He was basically like a pet that was leashed at the front while the owners went inside. But hey, that was Lady’s words not hers. There was a brooch for her mother and a set of bracelets her friends would like. Then with Lady’s help, she chose a small bag for herself.

There was only half a day left for them to visit one more landmark when Patty’s eyes caught the shirt by the window. Dante almost slipped as Patty grabbed his sleeve hard.

“No,” Dante said immediately. He walked a few steps away then Lady stopped him. There was a teasing smirk already on her face. “No, I’m not going to do that,” he incredulously gestured. Lady’s smirk widened and she presented a coin.

“Oh no, you won’t get me to do that. No, no, just nope,” he danced around her and proceeded to walk further.

Lady grabbed his shoulder, “Scared to lose?” At Dante’s flat look, she tried again, “How about this, I’ll waive a part of your debt if you win and if you lose,” she twirled the coin, “well, you wear the shirt and have a photoshoot with Patty.”

It was an appetizing offer.

“You know, you just want me to look ridiculous,” Dante grumbled, but grabbed the coin. “For the record, I do this for my own sake,” he said. “Heads or tails?”

It showed tails and Patty snatched the shirt. Putting it aggressively on the cash register.

Their last hours were then spent on Lady flexing her photographing skill. The three stood under the tree, ancient and massive. It had its own myth surrounding it, the town making the plant their symbol. Its foliage was plentiful with huge trunks. The sun’s rays couldn’t penetrate the thick leaves. It made for a great lighting though.

Dante was resigned, letting Patty tinkered with the shirt and his hair. He sat on the wooden stool, wordlessly following Lady’s instructions. Patty was happy while showing off her own dress. There had been several onlookers when they were finished. As a part of him losing, Dante had to wear the poet shirt the whole trip back. He tsked, grabbing their bags and dumped them in the backseat. He would have offered Lady, yet they both knew she loved riding on her bike. Probably taking the train at the halfway point.

All in all, it had been a fun trip.

Next time, she definitely would go there with her mother. Nina already arrived the day before as the car pulled on the driveway. She smiled and was nakedly surprised Patty remembered her promised souvenir. The brooch settled on her lapel perfectly. It was beautiful, flower shaped with small pink stones adorning the lines. Patty talked long about the short vacation and was drooping when she finally changed into indoor clothes. She tried hard to stay awake, though one more look away and she hid her yawn.

Dante was on his way to the front door when the girl suddenly sprang up and ran upstairs.

“Hold up!” She yelled from the second floor.

Nina huffed fondly and Dante raised his brow. Hand still on the handle. There were quick, hurried steps followed with a dull thud and a zipper opening. The adults were standing in silent when Patty skipped over the stairs. She almost slammed into Dante’s abdomen.

“Here,” she said breathless. A pouch raised to his face.

“What’s this?” He picked it up.

“A reward,” she smiled, “Thanks for accompanying me, mister bodyguard,” she teased.

This time was a better event than their first trip together that was for sure.

She saw how his eyes slightly widened, palming the pouch, then proceeded to pat her head. She squeaked but didn’t bat his hand.

Until he went out and drove away, Patty swore she saw a small lilt on his lips.

It felt warm and settled comfortably inside her chest. She smiled when she fell asleep.

\---

Sometimes, Patty could see how much Dante indulged her. At those little smiles she coveted and hoped they were there due to her efforts.

And maybe it was because she was getting older to be more aware of her surroundings. With age, came the inane ability to realize how sharp words could be. How virulent they were given the wrong conditions.

Sometimes…

Well, _sometimes_ , Patty wondered just how much of those hurt. As nonchalant as Dante was, Patty never liked the subtle expression he made in those moments.

\---

It was a common occurrence to have someone being booted out of the shop. From time to time. Devil hunters dealt with varied kinds of people. Some plain, some eccentric, yet several was so tone-deaf to the point where _Patty_ wanting to do the kicking. Morrison always grumbled after one such encounter. Cursing under his breath too low for her to hear.

And today turned out to be not good. A man had the gall to demand exorcism on his own daughter. His own family. It hadn’t taken long for both Morrison and Dante to see that the poor girl was anything but possessed. An appointment to a therapist was overly due for her.

“Are you saying my daughter is crazy?” The man had pitched his voice high.

“We’re not,” Dante sighed as he steepled his hands. “But from the symptoms, I think it’s more likely she needs psychological help than what we offer here, sir,”

The stuffed businessman had blanched. Then proceeded to slam his fist on the desk. Patty flinched and it wasn’t missed by Dante.

“Outrageous,” he shook his head, “You dare to call my daughter a nut case?”

“I never say that,” Dante leaned back. Scrunching his nose at the man’s putrid breath. “But from what you tell us and of her symptoms, they’re not really fitting of a possession. Much less any demonic activity,” he shrugged.

For good measure, he also added, “Isn’t booking an appointment for a human problem sounds much better than what you are requesting anyway?”

That had the brilliant effect of Patty having to witness the man’s face changed shades. From blank, to pink, to red, and almost blue. He had proceeded to curse Dante out, the hunter unflinching and glanced at Morrison. The broker sighed but tried to push the wheezing man out. It turned into a struggle as he continued with his demand. Growing more and more indignant, making Patty’s ears rang with how loud he was getting.

Finally, Dante pushed his chair and swiftly pushed the man out. He stumbled down the short steps. The door was already closed and locked when he tried to open them again. There was a prolonged pulling and banging before the former client gave up. Spitting at the wood as he walked away.

“Useless man,” Patty heard the muttering, “Shouldn’t have come here. What a shitty service. So high-up they shit on my problem,” the rest was too much of the same repetition that Patty turned away from the window.

“Nice man, huh,” Patty tried. Both Morrison and Dante huffed, shrugging as if it was just another day of business.

It was admittedly the better ones.

Patty vaguely remembered how there was one woman who kept on harassing about the payment (even when she had promised and gave the cheque. Patty could never understand that one), another man incessantly calling phone after one look at him Dante just knew he was up to something shady (which had the side effect of him cutting the line for a while thus resulted with less jobs), and another one who managed to pick the locks just to see the devil hunter (Patty was downright worried when he mentioned it – a fan was one thing, but a stalker was another problem altogether).

She knew that Dante could handle them just fine. His reputation was getting too better for them to easily tarnish it. Along with that, his demon blood was enough to give her a sense of security for him. There was strength in that one comfortable thought. As the days went, Patty became quite numb and accustomed to the more hectic clients. Whenever her friends asked for juicy stories, she came up rather blank. Again, it wasn’t as if she _wanted_ such thing to occur. Life might need spice to make it exciting, but too much and it only left you with the bitterness. Oversaturation of everything was a dangerous thing.

Yet Patty couldn’t help to feel a bit bad for Dante. It wasn’t a big secret that she was sensitive and more perceptive to how people talked. A trait that she had mixed feelings on. But it was a bit disheartening to see your closest people being treated like shit (even when it wasn’t a daily thing). There were a sympathy and slight anger whenever some crazy clients strolled into the shop.

As cliché as it sounded, people _could_ be mean sometimes. Overtly so.

Patty was on her way carrying a wide envelope when she heard a wail from the shop. Hurriedly, the girl reached the handle and pushed it open.

Lady and Trish were there. Each standing deceptively calm, Patty noticed how close they placed themselves near Dante. Morrison held her shoulder, shaking his head when she tilted her head. The man steered her to the corner. Making sure she wasn’t seen and noticed by the sobbing lady on the floor.

“You killed him!” The lady said – a wealthy one, Patty noticed the pearls and genuine cashmere – and rubbed her eyes. She was bare faced, except the red lipstick. “He was just twenty! You!” She pointed at the hunter, “How could you? Shooting him in the head without so much of a,” a hiccup, “a blink. Have you no empathy?!” She screeched.

Lady was the one who answered, “Your son had already turned, ma’am,” she said. “It would have only led to him suffering more if we let the demon took over.” But her voice was dimmed by the harsh, wet laugh.  
  


“Oh, _now_ you telling me that? Why don’t you say that to his grave,” the woman hissed. She looked at each hunter, liquid hatred running down her eyes. There was so much _grief_ in there. Horribly misplaced as they could be. “You are a murderer,” she thrusted her finger towards Dante. “My son’s blood is in your hands and there is _nothing_ in hell or heaven that I would ever forget that. I’ll never forgive you,” she trembled.

There was a minute thinning of Trish’s lips before Lady clucked her tongue at her. She frowned, but Dante’s hand on her shoulder made her back down.

“I’m sorry,” the half-demon said. “For what’s its worth, I’m sorry for your loss.” He glanced down.

A beat passed and the lady chuckled. Still wetly. “Pretty words, but they don’t bring my son back,” she shook her head, and sighed. She resembled a deflated balloon. The black suit hung around her thin body. “I just hope you get what’s due in the future. To feel how it’s like to lose a family and I _pray_ it will hurt so much more than what you gave me.”

“Now, you-“ This time it was Lady that spoke before Dante stopped her. He shook his head at her rising brows. Patty saw the ticked veins on her jaw.

“I understand,” Dante’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Is there any other form of retribution that I can do for you?”

“Your death,” she rasped.

It left a tangible emptiness to the place. The unease prevailed even after the lady walked out. Her bloodshot eyes meeting Patty’s for a split second as she slammed the door.

The aftermath was… awkward. For a lack of better word.

Lady had muttered, tapping her feet from her perch at the desk. “She just doesn’t want to admit that it was her son’s own doing that caused his death,” she hissed. “Rich kid almost blowing up his dorms with the summoning just for fun and mommy dearest can’t handle reality.”

Trish had nodded along, arms crossed over her chest.

“Grief can do that to you, can make the worst out of anyone,” Dante sighed and slumped against his chair. He rubbed his left hand.

The two women dropped it at that, letting off fumes before Lady declared that she needed fresh air. She tapped Dante’s arm with Trish doing the same as they filed out. Waving and giving looks to Patty on the way. Morrison also sighed, and after realizing Patty would stay there, tilted his hat and left. Wishing Dante, a good afternoon. Hopefully a peaceful one after this.

Dante stretched out, letting his joints popped and moved to grab some whiskey. She toed the floor, a bit lost on what to say. Patty ending up sitting on the sofa and opened the envelope. Developed photos were spilled on the coffee table, most of them from their recent trip. She was busy arranging them when Dante sat down next to her. His glass half-empty by the bar.

“What are you doing?” He asked. Hand picking up one of the photographs. He raised his brow at it.

“Just looking at the pictures we took back then,” she answered. “Here, I already marked the copies that you can have,” a small pile was offered to him.

He took them, rubbing his finger on the foremost one. “Huh, they’re turning out to be really good,” he commented.

Patty had been astounded by that picture. The one that Lady took of them under the tree. She liked how her dress looked, the colour complimenting her hair. The worker at the store asked if they could make another copy for their window – a perfect showcase. She was delighted and nodded, seeing nothing wrong. There was a few comments and quips about the man beside her, all of them had been… exceptionally awed. She herself had to agree, Dante was too much good-looking and beautiful. Who would have thought he had a photogenic side?

“You look pretty there,” Patty hovered over, “that shirt really suits you,” she nudged him softly.

He snorted, then moved to the next picture. Patty saw how mum he was being – no doubt the residue from the encounter only thirty minutes prior. She noticed the lidded gaze, the miniscule downturn of his lips, and how rigid Dante appeared.

Patty _disliked_ it. There was a second of wanting to find the woman and chewed her off, but that was chucked to the trash. Nothing could be done more, going from how everything went, Patty would only make it worse. The opposite of what she supposed to do.

So, she tried.

“The trip was really memorable,” Patty leaned into her seat. “We should do it again,” she flicked a glance at Dante who gave a half-shrug.

“Hey, Dante,” she curled her fingers.

The hunter hummed while turning to her, “Yeah?”

“You’re not a bad man.”

And she had thought she chose the wrong words as his fingers tilled. Then, she heard him huff, his left hand patting her.

From the corner of her eyes, there was that soft smile again.

\---

Patty didn’t clearly remember when and how it even started, but she would try to do or bring something when a bad day happened.

It wasn’t perfect. Sometimes, things were just best to left alone before returning normal again. Not to mention, school was getting hectic and busy, along with having her own life.

But when there was a chance, she grabbed it.

Bringing him pizza, proclaiming that she needed someone to eat out with, or in the rare times, she would drag him to make their own strawberry sundaes. It always ended up with sticky fingers and overly sweet stench which hey, didn’t matter as they ate the diabetes monstrosity. Patty would make some burnt pastries or some deformed chocolate when the mood hit her. Though she rather stuck with store-bought ones as the main objective was to cheer Dane up. Not food poisoning.

Of all her endeavours, there was one thing that had the high chance of righting Dante’s mood. Of all the things she gave him, flowers had been the least of her expectation.

A single stem tended to be enough for Dante to lighten up a little. Especially if the flower was a rose.

\---

“Dante! Wait!” Patty yelled, making several heads turned.

The red-clad hunter tilted his head. Amused and teasing mixed in one. He held a bag over his shoulder.

“What is it, Patty? Gotta be quick, the ferry is leaving,” he put his hand on his hip.

Patty exhaled a breath, then shoved the small bouquet. “Here, I forgot to give it to you,” she said between pants.

“Awe, thank you,” Dante sing-songed. “Though it’s kinda making me blush now. Shouldn’t I be the one who give the little lady this kind of thing?”

Oh, for the love of…

“You know what, I take it back. No, no, I think I’ll return the flowers, my money can be used better than this,” she made a move to grab it back, but Dante lifted it higher.

“Ah, ah, didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he grinned and made a show of smelling them. “Ooff, sweet smell there. I’m honoured you chased me all the way here.”

That was because she had only noticed the shuttered look that late afternoon. The mention of the job at Fortuna had Dante clamped up for a split second before he chattered again. Patty had needed to run after school to the florist. Gosh, she shouldn’t have worn her dress shoes for this.

“Hmph,” she pouted and crossed her arms. “You better appreciate that. Anyway, I’ll count you postponing our weekly outing. Don’t you forget that, Dante!” She squawked when he pulled her hat down.

“Yeah, yeah, duly noted. See you later, Patty,” he chuckled then hopped onto the ferry.

Trish and Lady gave him a look at the roses while Patty fixed her hair. The whistle was sounded, and the boat moved away from the port. Patty waved both hands until they were too far away. Dante’s garishly red coat was still visible though, and she cupped both hands to see him.

The man put one stem between his lips, winked and saluted to her. His face mirthful and full-blown second-hand embarrassment.

Patty put both hands on her hips. Sighing loudly.

Well, at least, she caught the small smile again.

It was _juusstt_ under all that shit-eating grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewatched the anime and yes, while there was cringe fest going on in few episodes, they were overall good. A nice popcorn fodder and a well added lore to how the DMC universe is. 
> 
> I adore Patty based on how wily and childish she acted sometimes but at the same time, she was a very cool child character that was a joy to watch. Gosh, the fact that she played billiards and pokers around her age was wild and funny at the same time. Not oh so innocent given how she hung around mad people in a profession where supernatural things are involved. I'd like to think Dante doesn't really know Nina Lowell and views her as some sort of a stranger even when she's Patty's mother. 
> 
> And I write that specific part of them taking pics together out of inspiration by [this picture](https://twitter.com/dmc_ink/status/1304063677767639045)  
> It's a guilty pleasure of mine to see Dante being pretty/handsomely beautiful. Gosh, the anime did serve us with a good character concept haha. Gotta love this brooding bastard which morphs into a whacky old man. The duallity of a half-human. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	5. Nero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.
> 
> Have you noticed how each chapter gets longer and longer in word counts? ;D

Fortuna was lugubrious.

After the defeat of Sanctus and the Savior completely decimated, almost everyone was left waning. Each shed illusion the Order lost made the atmosphere sour. There were resentment and dissatisfaction. Towards oneself, the other cultists, and when emotions ran high, several things tended to break out. People were mad at everything and everyone. All the time. What started as demands for truth had swiftly turned into mob intruding into the Order’s headquarters. Pillaging, arresting, and arson mixed into one huge bowl of chaos.

The few weeks during was the most intense Nero had ever felt. His head almost exploding with his blood running hot as next day dawned. Civil unrest never crossed his mind, the island had had strong hold on everything. When the camaraderie wore out, ashes was all that was left. It took tremendous effort, the former Holy Knights and some ‘good’ folks managing the embers to not become wildfire. Nero found himself swept by the motion. He tried to steer clear from any social reconciliation. His deed on pushing the gavel on Sanctus’ damnation a sore note for everyone still. Didn’t help that he was basically always be a bit more of an ‘outsider’ to them.

Loneliness was bearable when he busied with the cleaning of rubbles and assisted the people over at the orphanage and school. They were too much in need of help to refuse his offer. Aside from that, they were the rare ones who didn’t bat an eye. Nero had grown in one of their places, a parentless and strange kid. Still was now that he thought about it. The former stinging than the latter.

Credo’s death was fresh. For both him and Kyrie – the funeral had been woefully brief. Awkwardly tense. It felt like they never knew each other. She had already heard the whole story as of now, but grief was never an easy one. Nero was too fond on beating himself up to not admit that he hadn’t properly cried. Credo had been stern, commanding on his disposition towards him. But the knight had wanted the best for both – shared in the fate of being orphans and trudging in the world with too many responsibilities sometimes.

It did hurt, when Nero was awake during moonless nights, to realize the extend of the damage and blindness they all had been. There was the want to spit at the corpses who built this cult. A hatred at the cruelty dealt. He was only nineteen, yet he felt too tired. Strung out in weird ways possible. He wanted Kyrie back, the only person left in his life. He wanted normalcy back, whatever that meant in the new days. He even wished the Sunday masses to be held again. Façade or not.

As cliché as it sounded, life was not that simple but it still went on.

The riots subsided, but there were still unrests. No more people were out there clamoring, some actually tried to continue their respective business. The markets were sparse, though there was an effort to rekindle commerce. The ragtag group that made the authoritative pillars finally able to ask help from the mainland – there were more enforcers, government advisors and more importantly, outside resources. Winter aided with the cooling down. The temperature mellowed the folks out with several actually trying to contribute to the cause of rebuilding the island.

Progress was slow. Nero took it in stride. He laid low, managing to be forgotten and reveling in the fact that they were too invested to notice him anymore. Fortuna would probably always have a certain level of conservatism and strict beliefs, but now that no one was there to fan the flames of the misconstrued faith, Nero saw that as fine. He took to guarding the complexes, spending the majority of his time during the night. Demons still lurked around and though little in numbers, they would pick on the humans nevertheless.

Being someone that was depended on was new. It gave some meaning to his life. The overtime was compensated with food or even money. He grew attached to the magnanimous ambrosia known to mortals as ‘coffee’. It was a small enjoyment the young man could have during his watch. At first, he didn’t care about the quality of the beans and more over the roast, they flew over his head until slowly, he could differentiate the good ones. His palate was learning, getting splashed by the paltriest to the richest of blends.

It was even sweeter when Kyrie gave him the thermos. The first time they ever really talked again, the air clear and each dared looking into the other. Salubrious atmosphere was there whenever they met ever since. Just like the days when they were children, only better this time. Nero wouldn’t trade it for anything.

They were moving on. Everyone on the island was. Days passed, old and new problems arose for the denizens to face and solve. They managed to have some form of governing cabinet now. A small one but effective. At the end, patience and relentless work had borne their fruits. The island was stable now, for what it was worth.

Nero discovered the potential of what he could become during one of his pro bono jobs.

“You should call that man,” Kyrie suggested when he voiced it to her. “I think he can help. He did give you the sword, right?”

He blinked.

Right, that man… Dante.

He was a weird one, crashing into Nero’s life and had turned it all upside down. The way he fought was stark against Nero’s own style. It took a while before he realized the old man had not broken a sweat fighting him back at the church. There was no way such person was easily defeated; Nero could admit that. His whole being screamed of a vitality unknown. The huge broadsword in his hand was swung as light as paper, while the katana in Nero’s arm was handled in an envious expertise.

The white-haired man had left quite the impression on him. Not to mention, how easily he trusted Nero to take care of Yamato. A feat that he didn’t know he actually deserved. How easily Dante had been on giving such powerful weapon away.

To an inexperienced kid like him.

There was something about the man in red. Something curious. Nero stepped outside the apartment to use the payphone. The line was down and having signal was once in a blue moon. He vaguely remembered it was one of the things the island tried to acquire fast.

He was searching for his coins when said devil hunter arrived. Still in that obnoxious coat. Dante stood by the lamppost. With a smile that was crooked.

\---

It was both a relief and an annoyance that Nero didn’t actually have to travel. Money was tight and he didn’t want to leave Kyrie mitigating the leftover damages alone. Yet at the same time, Dante was, how should he say this, an old man whose mission was to rile Nero up. The man would ignore his quips and his laidback personality had been the bane of Nero’s existence since the devil hunter set foot again in this island.

(And to think, at one point, the Order wanted to defer to him as a deity? Nero would just jump into the ocean if that had ever happened.)

Dante liked to talk, horrible one-liners and jeers with taunts that were never-ending. His whole being screamed flamboyance, but there was something tangible about it that Nero couldn’t help to notice. He stood out, despite sometimes he shed his red coat. Towering amongst the mass with eyes flicking towards him. The hunter didn’t seem to care or even realize he was both under scrutiny and interest. If he did, Nero thought how strong his nonchalance was. Maybe he needed to, had to, because from what he gathered from the other hunters alongside him, they weren’t exactly the bunch you put ‘well-adjusted minds’ to. Okay, that was rude, but it wasn’t his fault. The women, Trish and Lady, were insane. Their quirks rivalling Dante’s own.

(Also, why do all these people like to dress shamelessly? He wouldn’t judge them, though their existences and styles were enough of a vivacious provocation. Poor Fortuna, they all never saw this coming.)

The young man had to admit, nevertheless, that having an experienced devil hunter to offer some coaching and staying around the place bore benefits. He needed help utilizing his Devil Bringer, now that there were no more reservations hindering his curiosity. It was a bit of a doozy, when Dante revealed he had demon blood coursing through his veins. He admittedly had suspected so, but getting told that in such a casual way, not to mention outright confirming that yes, he did share similarity with the things he slayed was quiet overwhelming.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Dante chirped when they blasted some in an abandoned chapel. “You’re not like them. Really, don’t worry that little head of yours,” he grinned and somersaulted to a pew.

“Who said I was, old man?!” He yelled incredulously over Red Queen’s revving. “And for fuck’s sake, stop calling me ‘kid’!”

The hunter only winked, stepping away when some scythe slashed at him. He fluidly moved out of the way, twirling his guns. “You are one though. Shorter too,” he laughed, emptying bullets to the last of the demons. They fell, turning into ashes.

“I’m still growing! And trust me I’ll even beat you on that,” Nero huffed, hefting his sword over the shoulder. He caught up to the older man, already patting himself down and fixing his coat. A quirk Nero caught on when he started to follow him on some of his ventures. Something was always bound to happen despite the relative peacefulness the place had started to become.

“Eh, we’ll see,” Dante shrugged. He glanced over his shoulder; the setting sun made his pale eyes glowed. “At least, you’re not wasting too many bullets on such few foes and you’re quicker now,” he said as they walked back.

The hunter had been initially offered a place by Kyrie, but Nero shook his head hard when she suggested it and he breathed a big one when Dante kindly refused. But his temporary residence was still within the same complex.

“How the fuck you’re very fast on reloading your guns?” Nero scratched his head. While he knew revolvers tended to have slower reload, he was used to it and even had the bullets at the ready every time. Dante with his semi-automatic was insanely dexterous when also accounting that his weapons’ magazines were easier to slot back in.

“Practice, kid,” Dante easily answered. “Just lots and lots of practice.”

“That’s not helping.”

“Hey, sorry, but that’s the best advice I can give.”

The younger one clicked his tongue but didn’t say anything more. He put his hands in his pockets as they kept on walking. The streetlamps were already lit, some children were playing by the park and people begun to close shops. They passed one or two families going home to have dinner, their voices delightful and happy. They arrived at the neighborhood after half an hour. Kyrie answered the door, letting out the smell of her cooking. It made Nero hungry, remembering that it had been hours since he had lunch. Which consisted of a sad cold sandwich before Dante had cheerfully dragged him.

“Well, good evening, kid, and you too, milady,” Dante nodded. His lopsided smile in place.

Nero rolled his eyes while Kyrie chuckled. “Have a nice evening too, Mister Dante,” she said.

“Please, just Dante is fine. That’s what people call me anyway,” he said, still with that stupid smile.

At Nero’s raised brow and his own grin with too many teeth, Dante huffed a laugh once more. The two young people watched him went down the stairs, heading to his own room. But not before he flipped his coattails, as if curtsying after a show. They both sighed at the antic. What a strange man he was.

And maybe it had something to do with being a half-demon and half-human that made the old man to be very carefree and borderline playful whenever they were on the job. Nero suffered from too many secondhand embarrassments already. It had distracted him more than once, but really, Dante was, how do you say it, _zany._ Yet he could also willingly admit, Dante executed them with style and there was something about it that made him a different class altogether.

(But he would just bury himself than saying it to the older hunter. He did _not_ need to inflate his ego more.)

Dante could take on far more than Nero’s skills currently afforded. He had years under his belt, and from what Lady told him, he had been doing this ever since he was younger than Nero. Which was both inspiring and a bit unsettling. He started training when he was still barely a teen, that was true, but he never encountered anything greater than the usual appearances at Fortuna. To imagine Dante having to deal with these kinds without preamble was very different in that regard. The demoness, Trish, also mentioned how Dante did battle against greater demons; the kind that was never here in the island. The only thing Nero technically defeated that worth mentioning was the Savior and even that had still been aided by Dante himself. So, no, his resume paled in comparison with the man who was dubbed ‘ The Legendary Devil Hunter’.

He didn’t inquire more because while he may be a bit of a punk, he had been raised with some semblance of manners. So, he would leave it off. Dante’s past was not his business.

The two women stayed for some time until they had another job to deal with, they said their goodbyes and went away one late morning. He had not been that close with them yet, but at least, they shared acquaintances now that Nero was officially counted amongst their ranks. They were different, unique individuals that were admittedly a breath of fresh air. It was the first time Nero ever knew people outside Fortuna. While he still retained some conventions with his upbringing, he was open with learning about other views and habits. Nero hoped he could make enough with this new career of his so in the future, he could finally explore more. Not wanderlust, just an inane interest to see the wider, outside world.

With the ladies no longer around, the devil hunter had more free time when they were not called or needed. Nero utilized it to learn the business side of things. Dante was surprisingly good at giving advices and guidance when he wanted to, Nero found out. They were at his and Kyrie’s place, the younger man drinking coffee while the older helped himself with some ice cream. He had a massive sweet tooth, Nero could _taste_ the sugars from a mile away. He drank his bitter liquid more.

“So, in short, you have to be careful in picking the jobs. If you think you can’t do it, then don’t. Otherwise, you’re signing yourself up for bad rep and dissatisfied clients. But then again, you’re new so you can’t be picky yet,” Dante scooped another mouthful of the treat, “Still watch out for those who will likely exploit you. Once words are out how easy you can be, then it’s going to be harder to refuse and tighten your choice.”

“How do I know when to do that? And how to spot that kind of people? You know what, no, just stop. Practice, right? I get it,” Nero raised his palm before Dante opened his mouth.

“That’s right. You’re getting it, kid,” the man grinned and when he hit the bottom of the tub, he got up. Heading to the kitchen for some more.

Nero shook his head, “You sure you’re not going to get sick or have brain freeze with a third one?”

A laugh came from the hallway, “Don’t worry, kid. This is nothing, a man needs his comfort fix from time to time, right?” He already dug in again.

The fridge door was pushed close with his shoulder. Dante moved with a nimbleness that Nero didn’t expect from him. His build was tall, stocky, and seemed to fill his own space. Yet there was a deceptive looseness there. Outwardly lined. Nero had witnessed how flexile the older man could be. His Devil Arms were varied in their forms and demanded the swift switching of styles – it was like a dance that only Dante could execute. The choreographies long embedded deep into muscle memory. There was a rugged elegance to it all.

It was a show, something Dante would inadvertently pull, even when he may not realize it. Nero figured it was just typical thing from him. He still remembered how the hunter landed on the balcony, right in front of Sanctus. His coat bellowed and the reverberating shot were impressionable. Added with the blood splattering his face and the pale eyes, Nero could not be blamed to perceive Dante as ‘dangerous’ back then. He knew better by now that he was the least of everything threatening in his book. The man was ridiculous at times, and he didn’t hold himself too seriously.

But that was something he could have. A luxury for being the strongest hunter, a feat that had its own brand of reward. Nero sometimes wondered why he spared the time to return here, to have this vague ongoing mentorship with him. Maybe he wanted to make sure Nero could handle the Yamato or even testing him since Dante himself said he found him to be interesting. It was actually something curious – Nero could not exactly tell.

They still went together whenever a thing or two popped up around the island. Nero learning through hands-on experience while he watched Dante flowing about. Always with that distinct adroitness. It was quite instigating for Nero to catch up. To step up his game. Dante setting up the bar he wanted to reach.

Yet in the lull, when they took a moment after they were done, Nero contemplated. For all the easiness the hunter made his jobs looked like, there were still parts where he needed to be staider, right? Nero might be still young, but he knew capriciousness was a human nature. Dante should have that, no matter the blood that ran in his veins making him a half of two worlds.

He very distantly wondered whether he would see it one of these days.

\---

Nero got his wish. In a way. Somehow. He didn’t know what to think about that.

Three children were cowering behind him. The boy holding onto his jacket while the other two girls tried to shield him despite their trembling bodies. Kyrie was grabbing the towels. He stood in front of them, looming over to block their views. They did not need to see anything more. Especially not the ugly mug of the man that was hunched over on the stone street.

Dante was quiet, standing rigidly under the rain. He looked down on the heaving man. The eyes were watering and bloodshot, ashen face with some bile on the ground. Typical purging signs of exorcism. The devil hunter didn’t have his sword with him, only a gun in hand. He had an unusually austere expression.

“Is it over?” Nero asked to his back.

The older man flicked his wrist, “Yeah, it is,” he sighed and nudged the man with his foot. “Hey, I know you’re aware now. Get up, the police are coming,” he pushed the man to stand.

He wobbled a bit but then leaned against the lamppost. The rain made his already haggard appearance looked more like a wet rat. He looked disoriented, his hands twitching and mouth gaping. He looked for his children, but Dante snapped his fingers.

“Hey, hey, eyes on me now,” he said. Nero could still see the rune work on the cobblestones and the blood trailing down his arm. “You still know where you are, right? And your name? What’s today’s date?” He questioned the man.

Kyrie was back with the towels; she gently dried the boy and girls at the steps. Tutting and shushing them with her voice, distracting them. She nodded to Nero that she got this which he reciprocated and made to move closer to the two men. The sound of feet climbing the steps and the door closing were heard shortly after.

“How much longer until they arrive?” Dante said over the mutterings the man began to make.

“The station is near, so in another five,” Nero replied. He noted the rare frown on Dante’s face. It made him looked older. Weathered.

The hunter nodded, grabbing the man’s arms and tied them to the post with his belt.

“Let me go! I almost succeeded, I almost had them again! Let me go, you son of a bitch,” he struggled within the iron grip. He tried to move, creaking metal against leather.

“Why did you do it? You’ve scarred them for _life,_ you sick fuck,” Nero cut him off.

The man sneered, “You won’t get it. _She_ wanted the divorce, not me. She took my kids away from me, even when she leaves them for her work! I should have been right parent!”

“From what I heard from her, she was right to leave you,” the young man gritted his teeth. “What kind of a man, are you? Fucking around with demons. Didn’t you see what the Order did to this city?”

“I could make it work! If it granted me more power and money, then I gladly sold my soul. Even more if I could take back my children, they are mine!”

Nero shook his head. The feel of Dante’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from yelling back. It was no use arguing with a lunatic. The former wife had been worried sick and was almost driven to paranoia with the constant stalking and broken glasses. She didn’t like his dabbling with demonology, especially when it was made publicly clear about the Order of the Sword’s practice with unholy rituals and utilizing demonic knowledge. It all came to a head when the man wanted to summon a demon, thinking that forming a pact would alleviate their lifestyle. She cut ties with him before it was too late, bringing their three children with her to another side of the city.

But the man was livid at that, delving more and more. He thought he could control the demon, but it overwhelmed him and instead attacked the house. The woman was a busy person, having to juggle her role as a mother and breadwinner since then. She worked overtime, trying to have ends met. Her job needed her to leave the island for a full week and the man used the opportunity to strike.

It was Kyrie who heard about her problem and offered to look after her family – bringing them to their place rather than the empty house. It was a good call. Nero and Dante had been walking back from the market when the rabid man appeared. He ran but Dante was _faster,_ even more so than the usual. The sharp takedown had looked painful and he could feel the sheer spike of anger in Dante’s taut muscles.

“They’re here,” Nero pointed to the arriving group.

Three policemen arrived with a cleric, they nodded to Nero and raised their eyebrows collectively at Dante. He was standing quite menacingly.

“Ah, you’re finally here,” Dante smiled and gestured to the struggling man. “He’s all yours, gentlemen,” he stepped away.

The man cursed, still struggling and it took all three police to subdue him. Handcuffing him and shoving him into the opened backseat of the car. “Damn you all! Especially you!” The man spat at Dante, eyes wide and ugly snarls. “You rob me of my family. Rob me of my children. Rob everything from me! You’re a curse, a curse!” He yelled.

Dante was on him in a blink. Making the police gasped. The devil hunter put his hand on the car roof and stared down his nose. Nero swore the space around him shuddered.

“I don’t normally care when someone do something stupid like you,” Dante started and Nero thought his Bringer glowed for a split second, “but your yammering is annoying and I tell you what, the only curse here is you, pal. You curse your own children, what you think is your property, with your own existence as their pathetic father.”

No one moved, not even Nero. Until a breath passed and Dante moved away.

“Alright, gentlemen, take him away and thank you for your service,” he closed the car door and saluted to them. Smirking with all his dramatics.

“Yes, of course,” one of the officers coughed, moving to the driver’s seat. His colleagues approached Nero, “I take it the children are inside?”

Nero nodded, “Yeah, Kyrie is taking care of them. She has the permission from their mother,” he said. “Do we need to fill out something?”

The officer gave him a pen and the normal form regarding this kind of arrest. Protocols. He filled them then handed it back. “Did they come in contact with the criminal?” He asked.

“Nope,” Dante answered. He leaned on the steps railing. “Didn’t even come close enough.”

“That’s good. Sir, do you think we need to cleanse them still?” The officer asked the cleric who looked over the fading red writings on the street.

“Maybe, just to be safe. Sometimes the aura can still latch and while it’s not dangerous, children are sensitive,” he glanced to Dante, “though I think that won’t be a problem. You are that devil hunter, correct?”

“Right on the money,” Dante grinned. “I know how to do it and I still have some holy water. I must say, this place makes one of the best, despite everything.”

The cleric huffed, amused. “Well, not everyone at the Order was mad. Some did want to make a better place, unfortunately the good faith had not been able to open our eyes.” There were deprecation and irony laced. He fixed his robe, “Anyhow, it seems our job here is done. Let’s return, officers. You have a good day now, Mister Dante and I trust the children are in good hands, please send my regards to Kyrie, Nero.”

“Will do,” Nero nodded. The cleric was one of the people who advocated for the complete dismantlement of the old government after the whole Order thing. He was one of the good people, those who were genuine and promised to serve for the sake of it.

The churchman was the last to enter the car. Before he went, he patted Nero on the shoulder, “You have a good friend there, child. A legendary hunter and he’s very skilled. I had almost mistaken him to be the mother from the way he had used the exorcism technique. It was a particularly vicious one,” he said.

Nero tilted his head and the man chuckled. The two hunters watched as the car drove away.

The rain was getting heavier and they went inside. Kyrie was by the sofa, closing the first aid kit.

“They’re resting,” she informed them. “I think we can wake them up when dinner’s ready. Help me with cutting the vegetables, Nero,” she said as she headed to the kitchen.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Dante said and made to move to his own room.

“Are you going to stay over for dinner, Mister Dante?” She asked.

He grinned, “Of course, wouldn’t want to miss your delicious food, miss.”

“And free food,” Nero muttered after he was gone. Kyrie kicked him on the leg. 

The children rubbed sleep from their eyes and were refreshed when they splashed their faces at the sink. They were still a bit somber but at the smell of roasted meat and potatoes, they eagerly sat by the table. Nero cut their food into smaller bites and placed napkins on their laps while Kyrie made sure they had enough on their plate. He was used to handling younger ones back when he had still been at the orphanage and even after Credo and Kyrie took him in. His friend was an expert on handling children, so this was a reflex for them.

Dante though…

Well, Nero was impressed by his gentleness and patience. People tended to forget that the latter was a much-needed virtue when dealing with small kids. He just didn’t expect Dante to be good at it. Dinner was a swift affair and when they finished, Dante guided them to the sofa. He knelt in front of them. And well, Nero now felt bad he expected they would cry or be scared when Dante told them they needed to go through some cleansing ritual. He scratched his head, looking on the sight.

Then as if he weren’t already being stunned, Dante hit him with a double whammy. Kyrie had to push his jaw, so his mouth was closed. Hiding her smile behind her hand. He smally gestured towards the older man and Kyrie amusedly raised an eyebrow. A knowing glint in her eyes. She always did understand him, even without any words.

“I never knew Mister Dante could sing,” she whispered when they were washing the dishes. “He has such a nice voice. Maybe we can practice together sometimes, I still have the piano and he can play the guitar, right? Oh, it will be nice,” she wistfully sighed. After the Order was well and truly finished, the Sunday mass was disbanded. No one wanted to come, not even for the sake of the activity. It did make Kyrie a bit down, she loved singing and her skill was not often used lately.

But the former songstress waited patiently, prioritizing the care for the boy and girls until their mother returned. During the whole three days, Dante was unceasingly present. Sometimes playing with the girls while their little brother was taking a nap and other times, he read to them. There was a laxness in his body and tone, making quite the compelling display. He never saw Dante acted this way, granted there had never been a scenario such as this.

It was… well, there was a twinge in Nero that was both foreign and old. He brushed it away, continuing his maintenance with Blue Rose. Kyrie was sitting on the other chair, wiping Red Queen down with a cloth. A bottle of oil on the table. She liked the sword, charmed by its fine craftmanship. The piece of fabric was teasingly thrown at him.

“You’re staring, Nero. It’s rude,” she wiggled her finger at him.

He flicked the thing back at her. “I’m not,” he denied.

“Oh, Nero, we all know you tend to do that whenever something catches your interest,” she huffed. Red Queen was put inside the case, the woman putting the dirty cloth to the hamper. “You could ask to join if you want,” she said. Smirking.

He flustered, “What? Hell no,” he whispered back.

Kyrie chuckled and left him be. Sometimes glancing at Dante who leaned against the sofa with the two girls playing with his hair. He was dozing off, hands loosely wrapped around the toddler. A tug and he opened his eyes, sighing when he saw the messy braid with the tight ribbon. He let them still, resuming to his previous state. They all seemed to latch onto him since that night. Perceiving him to be safe after he performed the small ritual. One of the girls was allowed to keep the empty glass bottle. The holy water already sprinkled on them. Now it was filled with glitter and decorated with a bow.

The mother arrived after lunch. She was grateful and thankful, bowing deeply to them – she promised to take some days off to be with her children. Being there for them to move on from the traumatic event. She gave baked goods in a box to Kyrie and him, once again thanking them. To Dante, she was beginning to want to pay him back, but he stopped her.

“Keep your money, ma’am,” he said and put his hands in his pockets. “You need it the most. For yourself and these three little squirts.” When the woman had still looked unsure, he winked, “Special client, it’s free of charge. Code of conduct.”

The mother relented and bowed again before taking her children’s hands. One girl slipped past her and stood before Dante. She tilted her head upwards, barely reaching his knees. “What is it, little miss?” He raised an eyebrow with hand on his hip. The girl raised her hands, showing him the filled glass bottle. She grinned with one tooth missing when he picked it up. “Well, thank you. This is a wonderful reward,” he dipped his head like those knights in the fairy tales he read to them. “Farewell now,” he said.

The little girl giggled after he patted her head and returned to her mother. All of them waved until they reached the street junction and disappeared.

“What is it, kid?” Dante tilted his head. He still was holding the small bottle.

“Nothing,” Nero shook his head and headed inside.

The devil hunter hummed, shrugged, and also returned to his room. They met again after several hours at the call for help guarding some folks through a forest that had become infested with demons. All the while, Nero kept quiet, listening on Dante’s idle talk about nothing. Filling their hike to the higher grounds of the island. The job went along fine, nothing out of the ordinary happened. After the band of people safely returned from the hills, Nero was still reminiscing the previous events.

And that twinge became more pronounced. He thought he had already moved on with it. That small yearning of a kid. Had assumed he was old enough to not want it anymore. But days later, he still wondered how that hand would have felt ruffling his hair.

\---

For the second time in the row, his wish was somehow granted. Nero frowned at Lady Luck, because that was just suspicious. Though he didn’t exactly want to complain.

Kyrie finally was able to have Dante to serenade with her. It became a familiar thing during the mornings or late afternoons hearing them – Nero noticed some of the windows that their neighbors opened when the two started. He didn’t exactly share their taste, but he heard Kyrie ever since they were children and he could appreciate it. Made for a background noise while he exercised and did his daily stretching (despite his relatively best flexibility, the old man had him still beat. He _scrunched_ his face hard when Dante did and it pissed him off).

But today was _that_ day. The morning was quiet and still, Kyrie didn’t make too much for breakfast and swiftly cleaned the plates before she changed. Nero waited by the hallway, already dressed in a shirt and dress pants. He didn’t have his jacket on, the weather unusually warm this time of the year. Thirty minutes later, Kyrie exited her bedroom. Dressed in cream colored blouse with matching draped skirt, her feet were fitted in her short heels and her hair was brushed loose. He noticed the old feather hairclip, lovingly cared for that the gold accents were still visible. The necklace he had bought for her back then was meant to complement it.

They walked together downstairs. Dante was already up and ready, leaning against the main doorway. He waved at them then moved to hand Kyrie a basket. It was filled with white flowers and some candles; she widened her eyes. The basket was held close to her when they headed to the cemetery. The sun creeping up along their steps. Its rays shone the tombstones and statues, lifting a gloom the night brought before. There were some garden workers with the usual visitors in respectful moods. Everyone was hushed, the slight breeze rustling the nearby trees.

Credo’s resting place was on the higher area, surrounded with the more elaborate stone works and arrangements. His surviving men were the ones who insisted to pay for the expenses, not relenting despite Kyrie’s words. At the end, they had a small procession on a grey day. Nero had stood by Kyrie, hand on her back as she wept. Both kneeling by the opened casket. They had no body to bury, they had looked hard, but only the knight’s sword was everything that remained. It laid inside the casket and soon, they saw it no more as the staff closed it. Latching it shut for the last time.

They reached the spot and for once, Dante didn’t say much about anything. He stood a step behind, leaning against a tree. Nero and Kyrie placed the flowers, white lilies, on the ground. The candles carefully set. She lit them one by one, each time whispering prayers and soft murmurs of conversation. A tradition she carried as when she and her brother had still been visiting their parents grave.

Nero usually sat beside her, head down and with thinned lips. He would wait, clasping his hands together as Kyrie took her time. This was the rare moment where he could do with staying still and did nothing. Without tapping his foot or itching for his headphones. Then Kyrie stood up, opting to do something different today. She pulled a paper, opening it to Dante.

The taller man picked it, tilting his head. “What do you want me to do with this?” He asked.

Kyrie patted the empty ground next to her. “I thought we could sing for my brother. Just lowly, I don’t want to disturb the others. But my brother would have liked it, this is his favorite hymn. Mine too,” she said.

And Nero knew the title by heart since it was the only one he liked when they were children having to attend the choir. It was one of the few things the three of them could enjoy together, joking and laughing when he hit the wrong note while Credo’s alto was horrible. Kyrie flushed whenever the two clapped, teasingly praising her until she chased them through the garden. The lyrics were specifically intricate and written in Latin, but he curiously loved it. He hummed them when he was doing the Order’s tasks and other things.

Nero abruptly realized how he had stopped remembering the hymn these past months. He heard the two started, Kyrie taking the lead with the soft soprano and Dante covering her with his bass. Their voices mingled, a gentle boom with the twinkling bells. Nero distantly wondered how they would sound if they were in the cathedral. The acoustics would surely magnify their vocals. There were a couple of elderlies passing by every now and then, until they placed themselves nearby. Listening in. Some groundworkers also stopped their raking, putting their head on their folded hands while they held their rakes.

It was over too soon. Nero offered his hand to Kyrie who took it, brushing off loose dirt and grass from her skirt. Dante spared one final look at the flowers, the snuffed candles, and the headstone before he followed them to the gates.

“Thank you, Mister Dante,” Kyrie said to him over brunch. They were at a café at a street corner, Kyrie with her bread and tea while Dante eating his toast and warm chocolate. Nero didn’t taste much from his soup and after they reached their home, he belatedly noticed his right hand’s sharp claws tearing into the sleeve and pricked blood. He didn’t understand and stayed away from Kyrie and Dante for the rest of the day.

The older hunter found him sitting on the edge of the rooftop. The apartment’s residents already turning off their lights and sleeping for the night. The young man heard the creaking metal door but he didn’t lift his head from his folded arms.

“What do you want, old man?” He muffled.

Dante leaned against the edge, eyes looking at the sky. “Nothing, just couldn’t sleep that’s all. Mind if I join you?”

Nero shrugged. “Whatever, now I know why you always oversleep. You don’t even have enough bedtime,”

“Hey, look who’s talking. Why don’t you snuggle up with your teddy bear then?”

“I _don’t_ have a teddy bear and it’s nothing. I just can’t sleep, same as you,”

“Hmm,”

They were silent afterwards. There were still some crowds at the streets, night owls and patrols. Some of them smoking and chewing gums to ward off sleep. Nero busied himself with the frayed threads of his shirt when Dante rubbed his neck and cleared his throat.

“Kid, did we do something wrong?” Dante asked him. “Did _I_ do something wrong? Back then at the cemetery.”

The youth whipped his head to him, raising his brows. “What? No, what, that’s not, what do you mean? Of course, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he crossed his arms. “Where is this even coming from?”

Dante looked at him for a moment. “Well, Kyrie seems to have a different say on it,” he shrugged, “she was wondering what’s the matter with you since you’ve been awfully quiet and brooding when we got back. You didn’t even seem to want to talk with me or even her,” he said. “She’s worried, kid.”

“It’s…” Nero started as he sighed loudly. “Ah, shit, it’s not her fault or even anyone’s fault. I’m not mad with either of you. It’s just that…” He trailed off, unsure if he should.

But Dante was being affable and Nero found himself loosening up. He twirled a thread at his sleeve. “It’s just, I don’t know, been a while since I heard that hymn, you know,” he glanced at him. “Credo, me and Kyrie liked to sing it together in the past. It was the only song I found not boring when we had to wear those stuffy robes and did the choir. I never liked having to sit through the sermon and after I got older and not got that duty anymore, I always slipped away,” he hung his legs over the ledge. “We had some fun practicing though, we were together during that time and, well, it was the last time we actually managed to even be in the same place anymore. We shared a house but Credo was getting busier and busier, Kyrie had a duty at the chapel and orphanage, while I was being trained to become a knight.”

“You didn’t have meals together?”

Nero snorted. “Yeah, that was once in a blue moon. I was usually too tired or didn’t want to even see Credo. He was strict, and I knew he just wanted the best for me, but he sometimes said so many harsh words. Kyrie knew though she couldn’t do anything. So, instead she usually had dinner with the staffs and nurses.”

It had been a straining time for them. Coming of age and growing up a bit ostracized like him was not the best memories. He didn’t like many people, he was too juvenile at times, and he definitely wasn’t paying that much attention to his instructors. Didn’t help that they whispered behind his back, about his arm, about his hair, about his mother. It nettled at him, pushing him even more away from the rest. Sulky and emotional. Uncaring even.

Though in the end, he still did respect and see Credo and Kyrie as his family. He gave a damn about them. Kyrie was patient with him and knew when to leave him alone, while Credo helped with getting him out of troubles and appealing him to the higher-ups. The man might be even close to be a guardian than an older brother.

“I see,” Dante said. “Is it too far-fetched to say you hadn’t been too close with him since?”

“We weren’t but I knew he tried to reach out though I had been so stubborn,” he sighed and rubbed his face. “To tell you the truth, it was actually the first time in a while for us to even have a short talk when you attacked the church.” And it had been woefully brief, professionality in place. They didn’t have any more time to speak again. Only meeting and having that fight. They misunderstood each other and Nero had been deeply frazzled that he just didn’t feel much when Credo fell.

“I just,” he gritted his teeth, “I just feel so _stupid_ seeing it all now. Kyrie was crying for almost two days after everything settled down and all the while I tried to hold on, but then you two sang this morning at his grave and I….” Nero rubbed his face furiously. He refused to show his face.

Dante kept silent until he found his breath again.

“And I remembered how I couldn’t say sorry. Fuck, I didn’t even cry when we lowered the casket. Then everything just slams into me and I’m so mixed up with everything,” he vigorously wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Shit, old man,” he chuckles wetly, “I’m an asshole, huh? I didn’t mourn him, didn’t think anything more about him, and just went on my life like he’s nothing. Gods, I’m such a bastard.” He hissed.

Something broke back then. There was something strong hitting him when he heard the two sang. It felt like a reminder, like a bucket that chose that moment to pour out. He was numb when the chaos and mess had still been raging, trying to wade through the aftermath, and made to get away from the worst of them. He didn’t think much, just going with the motion. When Kyrie and him returned to their normalcy, he had thought he had properly _moved on._

He guessed not. He was not. At all.

“Here,” a handkerchief was offered to him. “You’re dirtying your own clothes, kid.”

And it was the tone that Dante used which did it for Nero. He cried. Fat, ugly tears into the given fabric. He could feel a hand rubbing his back. He didn’t bat it away. There was a weird rawness under his eyes when he subsided. Dante’s hand didn’t let up with the circular motions.

It felt warm.

“You’re not a bad person for not reacting on cue, kid. You were in shock, you didn’t know what to do,” Dante said lowly. “You are not a cold person, Nero. Trust me, you are not. Kyrie would say the same too.” Then he retracted his hand away and Nero missed it.

“Could you sing it again?” He asked, still not looking at him. “I think I will feel better and done with this if I can hear it one more time.” Nero was bracing himself for a refusal, yet Dante only nodded. Settling himself more comfortably.

“Alright, kid,” he said and the lyrics floated out from his mouth. It lacked the clear twinkling lightness but it was strangely enough. Dante hummed between the intervals. He planted both hands on his sides with feet dangling. His voice carried by the wind, lilting through the night.

A part of the chorus came, Nero remembered how hard he and Kyrie laughed when Credo hit the note weirdly. They almost got grounded for being too loud at the monastery before Credo shushed them. For some days, Kyrie and he would mimic that missed tone whenever they passed him at the corridors.

He didn’t remember but he had seemed to bury himself into Dante’s side. The older man maneuvered them away from the edge and to the floor. It was cold concrete, Nero dug deeper. His arms tightening and almost crushing. Dante didn’t stop, though his voice was smaller.

“We didn’t have his body,” he hiccupped. “Kyrie almost wanted to keep the sword, but she couldn’t bear to bury an empty casket. I didn’t say much more, and even during the eulogy, I felt bored _once._ Fuck,” he shook his head against Dante. His shirt scratching his forehead. There was a stain there now. “I feel awful. I hate this, it’s unfair. It’s that fucking cult’s fault. If they didn’t exist, we wouldn’t have gone through this. I wouldn’t need to feel like this. It’s so unfair, I hate them, I hate this,” _and I hate myself._

Credo was family. Despite it all. Despite the imperfectness and the shrewd pragmatism. For the longest time, he and Kyrie were the only real people who stayed with him. Tolerated him.

“It’s okay to have regrets,” Dante’s voice reverberated. He could feel it through his chest. “Means you do care and Nero, you still have Kyrie. You’re not pushing her away and she cares for you too. And,” he patted his back. “You still have a grave to visit. I know it doesn’t sound good, but you still have a place where you can speak to him. Apologize, reminiscing, anything really. Nero,” the hunter was finally able to see his face, “you have your memories. I don’t know how many, but from what I heard from Kyrie, well, seemed you spent most of your years with him. He still is there.”

Nero didn’t know that Dante could sound so damn benign. So damn gentle _._ So _wise._ There were still so many things he didn’t understand from this devil hunter, but currently he didn’t care. He refused to peel himself away, encircling his arms more. They stayed like that for a long time, and he was even more content when Dante’s hand finally patted his head. His fingers caressing his hair with the repeating movement.

He felt his dry eyes and he closed them. Deeply soothed with the warmth.

They didn’t talk about it came morning. Dante was back to being his normal self, foregoing breakfast of sausage and toast for a sundae. He was drinking tea with five sugar cubes when he finished. Nero complained about the overly sweet stench then proceeded to challenge him for a duel. He still lost, having stood his ground for more than twenty minutes this time.

Dante hefted his claymore over his shoulder, shit-eating grin in place. He laughingly avoided Nero’s Bringer, already skipping away from him. He chased him, zooming through the field and raising dust clouds. When he finally ended the game, he was sweating and heaving, limbs turning lead. Dante looked unruffled as ever, flicking his gun absentmindedly.

He never mentioned the night before. Never teased him about it. Nero was grateful for that, he had an image to uphold, after all. But he still leaned into his hand albeit huffingly when Dante ruffled his hair. 

It was still warm.

\---

Morrison whistled when he entered the shop.

“I have to be honest here, this place has never been cleaner except when Miss Patty is around,” he put his hat away. “Are you sure you’re not considering staying here permanently? Because I do like how you manage the place.”

When Dante’s ‘vacation’ eventually ended, he offered Nero if he would like to have a taste of the bigger plate. He had been hesitant to leave but Kyrie practically pushed him when she already seemingly packed his case.

“Go,” Kyrie smiled, “I’ll be fine, really. The shooting lesson from Mister Dante helps, and I know you want to know more about what’s out there, right? Gathering experience is a good thing, Nero.”

He was so glad he had her. “Okay, thanks for understanding, Kyrie, really. I’ll be back soon, please don’t make more holes at our place. I rather like the flat,” he avoided her swipe. “I’m going now, I’ll call you when I get there. Bye, Kyrie.”

“See you, Nero,” she said and waved at them as Dante’s car pulled into the traffic.

It had been two months since. Two months of following the devil hunter when he was on the job.

Nero listened to the clients and wrote down things. Sometimes, he didn’t even need to pull his sword because Dante finished _real_ quick. It was a breeze for the man. Nero found that the city was larger, the streets filling out the map and it was easy to get lost. The people were different too; harder, colder, and frugal. Not to mention a bit stuck up their own ass. He was frowning whenever they were dealing with testy ones, those who didn’t understand basic human kindness or decency. They tended to be so high and mighty they treated Dante and him like their squires. Dante was used to it, charming and sly when the situation called for it yet also blunt and straightforward. He had a plethora of street smarts, connections, and insiders that he expertly utilized. Some were elusive, while the others were out in the open. The former was usually met by the older hunter alone, Nero not being granted the privilege at the carefully built confidence. He didn’t take it to heart, this was Dante’s networks, not his. He was here to observe and learn the ropes more.

But Dante was generous when it came for the latter kind, he introduced him to the newspaper boy at the street corner, some waitress at the diner, the stuffy librarian, and many more. There was one group that Nero clearly was surprised by though, that was the workers at the burlesque and strip clubs. Not just the performers and musicians only too, Dante was close with the owner and bouncers. Heck, they were so delighted to see him and promised him free shows.

(The old man had his grin, but he never treated or even remotely touched them inappropriately.)

Morrison placed a pile of letters on the desk. “Here, some jobs that Dante might be interested in. Though I gotta say he probably takes them all again,” he shrugged.

“Doesn’t he have the benefit to pick the things he wants to do? I mean, okay, his money management is bad, but he’s not that desperate, is he?” Nero grabbed a letter. It was a bit damp from the rain outside.

The informant chuckled. “Not when it concerns big supernatural cases,” he said.

“Oh, okay,” Nero nodded. “Say, I don’t mind if you won’t answer this but I’m curious. Why do you still work with Dante? I mean, he’s quite famous to get clients by himself or is the old man really that lazy?”

Morrison lit up his cigar before answering, “I don’t mind answering that, don’t worry. Well, let’s just say I’m still the best informant around, my list will always win over any job offer,” he smiled between puffs of smoke, “and we have good partnership. Dante knows my commission is fair for the quality of the requests I have. We’ve been doing business for a long time now. We go back _years_ ago too.”

The man was confident in his words, Nero believed him. He went on some solo requests lately and those all came from Morrison. Again, Dante was benevolent when it came to sharing his resource. Nero still didn’t understand why. But having Morrison made him felt more legit as a devil hunter. He could collect his fees, actually making a living, and he found the intricate monetary of it interesting. Fun in its own way.

The doorbell rang and they saw Dante strolling in. He shed his coat, dripping water all over.

“What a downpour,” Dante whistled. His hair was sticking on his face. It was getting longer. “Yes, kid, I know. Dry up by the doorway before wetting the floor,” he waved him off as he tried to wring his wet shirt.

Nero huffed and leaned against the desk. “Good, you figure it out without me telling. And no, don’t strip, you shameless fuck. Get to the shower already,” he shooed him away.

“Yes, yes, damn, are you my mom or something?” Dante teased and immediately closed the bathroom before Nero kicked him. On the face.

They heard the water running and Morrison went back to smoking. “Do you have some small jobs for me?” Nero asked after a few minutes.

“Let me get back to you in the evening. I think I have several, but I’ll make sure first,” he answered. The smoke was getting stronger and Nero couldn’t help but scrunched his nose. He never liked the smell of tobacco.

The doorbell rang again. This time, Lady and Trish entered. Much drier aside from some spots. They put away their umbrellas near the door.

“Oh, hey, it’s Nero and Morrison. How are you doing? Where’s Dante?” Lady greeted them. She had a bag of liquor in her hand.

“Bathroom,” Nero pointed. “What are you doing here?” He eyed the pizza boxes on Trish’s arms.

They grinned. “Ritual. The guy been missing a lot of our pizza nights when he was at your place,” Lady headed to the bar. “And since we both are going on a mission at dawn tomorrow, we thought we can just do it in the day. Just this once.”

“Please, tell me you know how to throw the trash,” Nero said.

He wasn’t going to collect scattered bottles again. His back _hurt_ when he was done with the deep cleaning during the first week at Devil May Cry. And Patty had even helped. That was how they met and she had been initially suspicious, but no one was that nice to spare the time to make the shop shining if they didn’t even know Dante. That would be just weird. Also, Dante would have kicked Nero out if he were a stranger. So, they bonded over attacking any insulting dirt, dust, laundry, dishes, the damn pizza box piles, and of course, the _numerous_ bottles. Those were everywhere. He found them even at the toilet. The fucking toilet. Just sitting there. What a mess. Nero and Patty were basically comrades at the end.

Lady laughed. “Relax, Nero, we’re not going to make your hard work go to waste. I actually like what you did to the place, you should start charging Dante for all the cleanings. I know Patty would have,” she snickered.

“Don’t give him any idea to deplete my wallet,” Dante sighed. He had a towel over his head with a new shirt on him. “And what’s this?” He pointed suspiciously at the pizzas and the brandies with one cognac.

Trish already had a glass in hand. “Pizza night. Technically, day but we have to go on a trip early tomorrow.”

Dante raised his brow, “And what did you tell them when you bought these?” His voice was defeated.

“Oh, come on, we’re not that mean, Dante,” Lady shook her head. “We used our own and kept the receipt. More practical and less hassle.”

“So, you can just directly ask for me to reimburse you. How kind of you two ladies,” he sat on the bar stool but still picked a slice. “You two are bankrupting me.”

“Our pleasure,” Trish quipped and Nero did a double take when a bottle was already depleted halfway. She was fast.

“Well,” Morrison got up, “I think the rain has let up a bit. I’ll be going now, have a nice day to you all, and Nero, I’ll ring the shop when I have the list for you.”

Nero picked up his jacket and followed him to the door. “Ah, no need. I can just meet you at the bar, I still remember the address. I’m going out either way, don’t want to crash the party.” He was legal in this city, but he felt like intruding whenever the three were around. They had a distinct relationship with each other, something tangible that he didn’t know much of, and Nero was not going to be the awkward fourth wheeler.

“Can you grab some milk on the way back?” Dante called out.

Nero flipped him off. “I’m not your errant boy,” he said as a goodbye. (But he kept it in mind.)

The rain had turned into light shower, he put his hoodie on. “What time is good?” He asked to Morrison who chewed the end of his cigar.

“Around six thirty should be fine. Just find me at the usual booth. I’ll be there,” he said and tipped his hat.

They went on their separate way. Morrison heading to the bus stop while Nero opted to take the scenic route. There were many landmarks he hadn’t visited, museums and shops he didn’t know existed – he was glad he could pull the young adult card because they usually had discounts that he could abuse. Nero was shameless with that.

(He was particularly smug when Dante balked at his grocery strategy. One score for him.)

He didn’t bring Red Queen. The sword garnering attention that was a bit much. He holstered Blue Rose though. Dante rarely went out without Ebony and Ivory, his Rebellion put into a guitar case when he absolutely needed to. The city was relatively more dangerous compared to Fortuna and there were many faces which he would never remember. He felt small amongst the sea of people here. Unknown. It had its comforts that came with the fact.

The young man walked through the park, passing several children and joggers. They didn’t look twice at his arm. Now no longer held within a sling. Nero found that to be nice.

\---

The bar was cozy. Unlike the others. It was orderly and clean, with tasteful light fixtures. The patrons were the mature ones, those with more sophisticated tastes. Nero spotted housewives and office workers too. Mingling together or nursing a good solid drink. No rowdy youngsters or vomiting drunkards. The establishment had a friendly atmosphere to it.

So, when something was out of the ordinary, Nero noticed.

The man was crowding Morrison’s space and he clearly looked miffed. His hand tightened around the glass, but the man ignored the signs. He had been shoving a thick envelope to Morrison’s chest when the informant pushed him. Hard. He hit the ground out flat, cursing at him before charging. Nero was on him, locking his arms behind him and stepping on the small of his back. He pressed a bit more when the mousy businessman struggled.

Nero didn’t spare an ear to his muffled curses.

“I called the police already,” the bartender told them. She glared at the subdued man. “Seriously, Morrison you have to watch out for yourself more.”

“Comes with the job description, ma’am,” he shrugged and added, “Sometimes.”

The woman raised a brow but sighed. She nodded to Nero. “Can you do that until they come?”

“No problem with that, this guy is all sticks anyway,” he shrugged and the man under him glared. It was true though.

A drink was slid up to him when an hour had passed and everything returned peaceful. The man had been still glaring, almost spitting at Morrison and Nero both. But he was soon whisked away, his yelling muffled as the police car drove away. The other customers breathed a relief, returning to their respective conversations and some back to their seats. The woman apologized to each before returning to the bar.

“Well? Go on, drink it. On the house since you were very kind to help,” she gestured to the glass filled with red fizzy liquid. “It’s non-alcoholic. Don’t worry, I know your type,” she winked and moved away to greet a new customer.

Nero huffed. He appreciated it though. Alcohol left a bad, bitter taste that he didn’t like. There was a feeling he wouldn’t be commiserating with it even when he was older.

“Shirley Temple, huh? Typical and not that bad,” Morrison chuckled. “Though I would like some vodka in there if it were for me.”

“No doubt about that,” Nero eyed the hard whiskey. “So, what was that guy’s deal?”

“Can’t take no for an answer. I already made it crystal clear that Devil May Cry do _not_ take stealing artifacts as a job,” he sighed. “But some are too used to have things go their own way, I guess. He had a _really_ bad breath, just so you know.”

Nero sipped his drink, “Damn, you sure he’s not going back to you anymore? The bar lady sounded that you get this often.”

The man beside him laughed and downed his whiskey in one go. “It’s nothing. All kinds of people come and go, makes life interesting. I know how to defend myself. Memorable things too, I remember how there was this one seedy but affluent man came to me at another bar and he brought like five bodyguards with him. He was some sort of a mob if I remembered correctly. Asking for someone who could take a hit,” he snorted.

“You’re kidding me? Dante? A hitman? The guy is noisy wherever he goes,” Nero said. Incredulous.

Morrison gave him an indiscernible look. “You’ll be surprised. I turned him down, of course. Just because the shop looks like that doesn’t mean they can just think devil hunters are handymen in the same way. The look on that man’s face was hilarious, but he knew he would bite more than he could chew if he insisted. Seemed like he was also incognito back then. Tell you the truth, I was sweating a bit. You never know when someone is a bit trigger-happy when rejected.”

Holy shit, Nero thought. He knew devil hunting was already dangerous in and of itself, but that? Okay, that was new. This was a new horizon for him, both in the bad and the good.

“Is this why you’re still working with Dante? I mean, you seem to be fine with that and all. But why are you doing this?” He gestured to him. “This whole… screening things? And wait, does Dante even know?”

“No,” Morrison answered. “Makes my job a whole lot easier. You should see the ladies, they’re thick as thieves and crazier than what I’m doing,” he signaled for another fill. “I swear they can be rabid as dogs. They’re intense.”

Trish and Lady had been nothing but receptive when Dante first explained Nero’s intention to be a devil hunter. They even wished him good luck before proceeding to annoy the older man and, as Nero came to know, made it a mission to abuse his money. Added with Dante’s apparent questionable luck, they were a duo Dante was saddled with. He did see the closeness though, the laxness and the quirks exhibited. Trish liked to poke Dante’s cheek or turned his face towards their objective and the man in turn would lift her by the waist or let her step on his shoulder to jump at enemies. They put their arms on the other when chatting too. With Lady, she tended to playfully punch his arm or pat him on the back at times, and the two made bets even when Dante would lose.

All in all, they didn’t seem to be what Morrison was describing them. But then again, Nero only came to be acquainted (and maybe on the way to ‘friends’) not too long ago. Who was he to know everything?

Which brought him to ask, “I see, you all have your own reasons and histories though I have a question. Why are you telling me this? I’m still… new. Green compared to you all and I’m not taking it against you, I know my place.” Well, sometimes, but eh, who was counting.

Morrison nodded his thanks to the barkeep, savoring the smoky taste, and turned to him. “Because you look like someone that I can trust,” he simply said. “You are a good person, Nero. You really do. And I trust Dante’s gut. He is, well, _Dante._ Hard to explain it, but he must see something in you to actually have the time of day helping you starting up. He never did this, always brushing off those who wanted to apprentice under him. I know some that would _kill_ for a chance.”

He took one long drink and looked to Nero. “So, don’t waste it, alright?”

And Nero could only nod as he didn’t know what to say. It sounded like a reminder, a confirmation, and a warning altogether. Intense and watchful. Nero thought he understood it a little, he had something similar whenever Kyrie extended help and kindness to the people around her. That want to make sure she was not being used for their advantage, to not be disrespected just because. Seemed like he was not special case in that regard.

The paper with several requests was handed to him thereafter. He pocketed it, exiting the bar when it was getting crowded. Morrison stayed, lighting his usual tobacco brand, and waved as a goodbye. Their conversation stopped when he had finished his drink. It was good, he placed some coins into the tip jar. Morrison didn’t talk about anything anymore and Nero was the same. He did say his thanks for the list though, promising he would pay him the commissions when all was done and completed.

The sky was different here, he noted as he walked. The pollution and noise ever-present despite the time. The city never seemed to sleep, unlike Fortuna which would have dimmed when the sun set. He passed by a mini market and bought the milk. The receipt was placed on Dante’s desk when he arrived back at the shop. The hunter only sighed, putting it together with the ones from the women into the drawer.

Dante’s face had a flush to it, sign of sated drunkenness. He was smiling when Nero shoved the milk gallon at him before taking a slice of the food – that indulgently cheating goodness of carb. He changed the channel; the others had long ignored the news anchor. As he chewed and made to watch some documentary, his eyes glanced every now and then to the three grown-ups. They talked shop, mundane and idle things. Sometimes glasses were filled, but he noticed Lady switching Dante’s with a soda after a while. Dante huffed and drank it, nevertheless.

Morrison’s words echoed in his head. Nero _could_ see an intensity in the people related to the devil hunter. Even Patty. There were personal pasts, ones that Nero doubted he would be privy of any time soon or ever. A weird epiphany because he was no closer to understand _why_ Dante even bothered with him again in the first place. He was better now with handling Yamato and surely with life filled with flair such as Dante, he would soon be sated with whatever interest he had with Nero.

It had been almost a year now, and he was staying over at the shop. Free of charge. Nero could leave anytime, there was nothing stopping him. Aside from the obvious want to improve himself and building his own network. Not to mention his base. But Dante seemed to go above and beyond, all the while never once demanding or indicating Nero would be in his debt.

Nero wasn’t naïve enough to believe that brand of cordiality was common. It was rare and had its limits regardless of the reasoning. Dante was a bit weird; he would have picked suspicious but again, everything was just so _Dante._ Just like what Morrison said.

Once again, the young man wondered. At the old man. At his decision regarding Nero. At anything he did that had everything to do with him.

Nero wondered until when Dante would be keeping this up.

Until what length that he would reach. 

\---

Third time was usually the charm. His wish was somehow granted. Again. He really should stop with it. Nero would have loved his luck if it didn’t mean this.

This was no _fucking_ charm.

“Stay with me, old man!”

Dante was heavy. Fuck, he was, and it was not helping. His coat was beyond saving at this point, his favorite and dear blue coat. Nero had used it as some torniquet. Trish and Lady were covering them, giving Nero enough window to drag them both away from the thickest fight. He couldn’t focus on anything besides getting them both to safety. Dante was incoherent, his voice hoarse yet still with that usual humor. Nero really wanted to punch him.

“Shit, Dante. Lean here for a while,” he said.

There was no orb or star he had with him; they had been running low from the start. Nero had to prepare at least five of each in the future. The older man’s wounds were closing fortunately. His body mending itself on great speed. A full human would have been dead at the spot. Dante literally saved himself.

The sounds of gun fire and lightnings receded after an hour. Trish found them under the outcrop.

“How is he?” She said and knelt beside him. Her voice was low.

“Alive, he’s healing. But I’m still worried about the blow, that demon lord used a cursed blade.”

It had pulsed, drinking Dante’s blood greedily after it pierced his neck. That blow was meant for Nero, standing the closest and taunting. He didn’t see it coming, the movement light speed. Dante’s gurgling would haunt him, he was sure of it. The devil hunter had managed to kick him far, hard enough in the stomach before he pulled away. Holding his spurting neck as he summoned a Devil Arm. The demon lord whose name Nero already forgot howled, lashing at Dante, and managed to land another wide slash across his body. That beast would have done more when Trish arrived, emptying her magazines and summoned her power. She showed her fangs, snarls and sharpness coloring her barrage.

“We’re finished here, aren’t we?” Lady called out, she held Kalina Ann away from her. It was hot, overheating after excessive use. “We should head back. He needs to rest.”

They all agreed though Nero stopped Trish when she hauled Dante up.

“No, I do it. You keep a watch with Lady for any stragglers,” she shook her head and put Dante on her back with her supernatural strength. Nero didn’t debate more.

Devil May Cry was dark when they arrived. The demoness deposited Dante on the chesterfield couch while Lady grabbed the rarely used first aid kit. She handed it over to Nero then headed to the bathroom in search of a towel and basin. They were somber yet not fretful. Safe in the knowledge that Dante was none the worse for wear. By now, his wounds were almost closed, leaving behind lacerations that would also be gone given a few more hours.

He was half-awake, turning this way and that when Lady cleaned the worst of it. The blood was starting to cool and get sticky. Turning rusted red on the skin. Nero was jolted out of his reverie when Lady told him to patch himself up, his left arm bleeding and few more wounds now stinging. He wordlessly went to the bathroom, cleaning himself up before applying the medical salve and rolled his arm with bandages. For good measure, he splashed his face again with the cold water. The soiled coat and stained cotton pads were ditched into the trash.

Trish sat on the coffee table. Her hand caressing Dante’s hair away from his face occasionally. She almost hovered over him, her eyes gleaming under despite the few lights being turned on. Nero could feel the static in the air.

“He probably has a small fever later,” Lady told him as she took a big gulp of water. She looked tired after the adrenaline and alarm eventually subsided. “I don’t have to tell you how to look after a sick man, right?”

“Huh? Oh, no, of course not. I helped Kyrie taking care the kids when they caught the seasonal flu,” he said. He was cupping a bottle of water. Crinkling it with his fingers.

“Good. Hey, Trish, do you think we should look for an antidote or do some cancellation spell? That sword had been cursed after all,” Lady refilled her glass. This time with orange juice.

“No, I don’t think we have to, but I want to check it again. That sword is still out there on the ground,” Trish answered. She pressed Dante’s neck, tilting his head to inspect it. “Do you want to go with me or should I just go there myself?”

Lady stood up, passing Nero by. “I’ll go with you. I also want to see if there are some spoils I can use or sell. Demon lords usually drop something,” she shrugged. Already holstering Kalina Ann once more.

“We leave him in your hands then, Nero. If the fever is too high, I think he has some potion by the cabinet over there. Just give it in small dose, a spoonful. Dante doesn’t need much,” Lady said but noticed his listless look.

“Nero. Hey, Nero,” she snapped her fingers.

He blinked. “Sorry, what did you say? One spoon from the cabinet? Yeah, noted.” He scratched his head.

Lady didn’t look convinced, frowning and made him squirmed in his seat before she sighed.

“Listen,” Lady put her hands on his. “He will be fine. Dante survived worst, this is a walk through the park for him. And no, don’t beat yourself too hard,” she stopped him from saying anything. “You’re still a rookie. You still have to learn and Dante knows that. He knows what can happen when he brings you along, alright? Just apologize to him if that makes you feel any better and look out for him now. That’s the best thing that you can do,” Lady said. Succinct and to the point. She was practical that way.

Nero sighed, crushing the plastic bottle, and nodded. He saw them to the door. Trish had looked Dante over one more time before she stood up. The static was still in the air and Nero thought he saw a flash in her eyes. A blanket was draped over the devil hunter, Lady sighing and patted Dante’s chest.

“Alright, we’ll be back soon. Take care of the place and that old man, alright?” Lady waved and revved her bike. Trish sat behind her, silently looking at Nero. All he could do was give another nod. Watching them went under the cloudless sky.

There was softness there in their handling of Dante and fierceness. He had not witnessed the two being so merciless on a demon before. Ever. Lady just told him that he was not at fault and Nero believed she bored no ill will towards him. Trish was different, maybe it was a demonic thing, but she had been lowly simmering at him. Sending weird signals that Nero didn’t understand.

He had been stupid and brash back then. Impatient to show off how much he improved. Didn’t see the vast caliber the demon lord had been, his average height hiding a deep strength. He sounded to have a vendetta at Dante. At his status and being as a half-demon. As a Son of Sparda. There were others just like him in the past, thus Nero hadn’t thought much about it. That was his mistake. And Dante had to pay for it.

The fever did come. High and too hot. Nero took Lady’s instruction. Tried to get it inside Dante. The old man was unconscious and delirious. A short cutting of his breath was needed for his mouth to open. Nero muttered his apology, then chose to sit around. Couldn’t bring himself to have Dante out of sight. He stayed vigilant – at the ready when Dante so much as twitched. The devil hunter looked downright _uncomfortable._ Sweating and fitful in his sleep. He didn’t answer to Nero’s voice, lost in the whirlpool. His fever was raging into the night, hard and relentless. Nero couldn’t sleep or even closed his eyes. He didn’t want to.

Anger and guilt roiled in him. They jeered at him, reverberating. He wanted to punch something, but he also didn’t want to leave Dante. Thrumming and locked in place. He tapped his foot, trying to wind down with cleaning Blue Rose. His hands weren’t cooperating, slipping the parts. He had to redo it thrice now, the clicking of the barrel not satisfying and indicated wrong placement. When it was useless, he splashed his face with cold water and crunched ice with his teeth. It still didn’t work.

Lady and Trish’s arrival was a blessing. They didn’t comment on his haggardness, electing to inform him that there was no further dangers. The sword was already purged, now in Trish’s possession. They just had to let Dante’s system did all the work. They stayed until the sun rose and Lady was running on fumes. They left for her home to have a full day of rest. And once more, Nero was alone with the hunter. The high tide emotions had at least turned into mere waves licking his feet. For now.

The sun crept up, its rays shining through the windows. Nero’s stomach growled, he pushed himself to make some measly oatmeal. No energy to even crack an egg anymore.

Two days later, the fever finally broke.

“Nero?”

He almost dropped the plates. “Dante? You’re awake?” He said.

“Yeah, ‘m awake. Ow, my neck is sore,” Dante rubbed it. “Gosh, it’s like the worst hangover ever. Do you have any water? My mouth feels so weird,” he complained. The water arrived so fast, it shoved against his face. “Thank you, kid. So, what happened after? Where are the babes?” He rubbed his head.

“The demon is dead now, they killed it. Trish carried you back here and uh, you had the fever. A side effect since that sword was cursed and had some sort of poison leeching off it. But it was nothing too serious, Trish and Lady went back to check and make sure you didn’t need any further action. They’re now at Lady’s home, resting. Trish has the sword by the way. Purged already,” Nero said.

Dante made to get up and Nero pushed him back down.

“Don’t move, you’re still sick. I’m grabbing some food for you,” he pointed and added, “And it won’t be pizza or sundaes. You’re not allowed to eat those.”

“I’m _fine,_ kid. Come on, after that I deserve at least those,” he gestured but leaned into the couch.

“Yeah, right, no. You need to eat something else, I know you are not too human but so help me, I’ll stab you there if that means you’re going to eat different diet. You need nutrition, old man, and after this you’re getting a shower. You fucking stink,” he said.

Dante huffed and chuckled. Crossing his arms behind his head. The blanket was piled on the floor. The temperature too warm for that anymore.

“Wait, you said _Trish_ carried me? How did she do it?” He asked when Nero placed the eggs with some toast and leftover takeout on the coffee table.

“What do you mean how? She put you on her back to and from the car,” he said.

“Oh, thank god,” Dante sighed.

“Why are you so concerned about it?”

“She carried me once in a bridal style,” Nero choked in his coffee. “Yeah, yeah, you can laugh.” Dante shrugged. “It was funny to me also.”

They ate. Nero watched the older man like a hawk which made Dante raised his brows. The hunter was pushed to take a shower when they were done. Towel practically thrown at him. “I thought I’m the sick person here,” Dante commented. Nero closed the door and walked upstairs to his room. Finally able to change his clothes.

Ah, he needed to buy a new coat. That old one had been very durable and snug.

The two recongregated downstairs after an hour. Dante in new pants and loose shirt. The scar was still visibly prominent on his chest and throat. Nero looked away. He answered Dante’s inquiries when he had been down, filling him in with the new arriving requests and several calls. Two had been from Lady asking for updates. When even that had been exhausted, Nero picked up a magazine. He heard the jukebox whirred to life, playing some guitar and drums.

It filled the silence and Nero woefully cursed himself for feeling suddenly awkward. Dante was leisurely draped over the other end of the couch. Flipping through his own reading material. An averagely thick book, leather bound, and looked expensive. Nero tried to read but the words alluded him. Floating about before disappearing by his lacking comprehension.

And when the paragraph seemed to have the ability to look disgusted by his reading did he stop. Putting the magazine back. Dante raised an eyebrow when Nero turned to him. Rigid with hands clasping on his thighs.

“What is it, kid?”

A breath. “I’m sorry,” he said and rammed through, “I should have known to assess the situation first and not going in like an idiot. Also, I should have never charged right in without being sure I was ready. You took the hit for me, and I’m grateful for that,” he bowed his head. “Thank you.”

Neither moved for a while until Dante put his hand on his head. Ruffling his hair. It was nicely warm. Nero rubbed his eyes.

“It’s nothing, kid,” Dante smiled. “Though I must say, you surprised me with your act. Nicely done, did you secretly rehearse it?” He chuckled when Nero weakly punched him. 

The younger man didn’t lift his face, arm still rubbing. “Bastard, I’m trying to be serious here.”

“I know, kid. I know,” Dante chuckled. He hadn’t let his hand off. “You were level-headed back then. You didn’t panic and tried to even stop the bleeding. You knew to retreat, that’s good. You did a good job, Nero.”

And he opened his arms when Nero did the same thing as that night. Dante had then soothingly rubbed his back.

Nero trembled a bit, “I was scared, I thought you would be in more danger and all because of me. I’m so sorry,” and there had been a tinge of fear that he would lose someone again. He tightened his arms around the hunter. Not wanting to let go just yet. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he muffled.

Dante didn’t answer. Only hummed and Nero found comfort in its reverberation with the beating heart. Why is he being too emotional? He wasn’t usually like this. Yet he didn’t care right now. Dante wouldn’t tease him or used it against him. He never would. They were at it long and nobody wanted to move.

Nero could feel himself dozing off. The fatigue finally caught up with him. He slowly closed his eyes completely. Under the caressing with his hair and the soft tune of Dante’s voice.

When he was on the cusp of slumber, he remembered how wide Dante’s eyes had been and the panic on his face as he pushed Nero. Blood spilled in rivulets, staining clothes and lips, but Nero recalled the look. It followed him to sleep.

Dante had looked _relieved_ when he saw Nero unscathed _._

\---

Nero grew stronger. Trained and challenged himself. Facing bigger foes and deadlier ones.

He had his place in Fortuna and still called it his home. A place that he returned to after a day of dealing with demons. Blood and ichor drenching him. Kyrie and he had a bigger living space now, taking in three kids to live with them. The house was never boring. Life in general was never boring ever since he took up arms.

Trish and Lady dropped by sometimes. If only to say hi and hang around. Nero suspected it was also because of Kyrie’s cooking. Well, he wouldn’t complain. They didn’t drive him up to the wall anyway. Patty did come once or twice when she wasn’t busy with school, always bringing with her some sweets for the children. Nero appreciated it. She helped around, striking a good friendship with Kyrie. They phoned each other twice a week, exchanging recipes and hobbies.

It was from Patty that Nero learned that Dante liked roses. Any color, really, the old man wasn’t picky. When she had heard about the fever two years ago, she sent a bouquet. Dante was exasperatedly fond of them. Placing them in a vase until they inevitably withered. The flowers did spruce up the place and Dante’s mood. It was the first for Nero to see how plants could affect someone that visibly.

They hadn’t properly met again. Each having his own life, not to mention being busy with all the missions and requests. Nero had established his own Devil May Cry branch by now, having his own clients and prestige. His reputation was still small compared to Dante, but it was going well. Overall, he enjoyed it. Contented even.

Knocks were on the door and he got up to answer it. Dante stood by the porch, his smile in place.

“Hey, kid. A nice house you got here,” he looked around. There was a box in his hand.

“Old man, what brings you here? Been a while since you last visited,” Nero opened the door wider. Letting him in.

“Thought I could send this to you, but I knew it,” he weighted the cardboard box, “It’s better to give you in person.”

It was light and lengthy. “Give me this? What’s in it?” He asked.

Dante gave him a cryptic grin. “Then open it.”

The tape went off easily and Nero curiously lifted the top. A lamp fixture was there, the cursive unmistakable. Nero gasped. “You’re giving me this? Are you serious?”

“Hey, if I weren’t, then I wouldn’t even be here,” Dante said. “It’s not the original one. I still have it but I think this makes it more official, right? Your own sign.”

The letters ‘Devil May Cry’ were exactly as its replica. It looked good. Nero was already considering where he should set it up.

“Thanks, really. I appreciate this,” he rubbed his nose. “I’ll put it somewhere safe first before placing it up.” He went to the garage, then placed the box on the topmost shelf.

“No problem, kid,” Dante crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall. “No problem at all.”

And there was that smile in his eyes. As gentle and warm as when he placed his hand on Nero’s head. He wagered he would probably never know why Dante was being so damn nice. He held from asking, seeing himself as too tactless to pick the right moment. Nero didn’t want to come off as discourteous. As ungrateful. He really wasn’t. It was the opposite.

But there was also something else in his gaze. One that Nero had noticed when he knew him more. He couldn’t exactly put his finger. He didn’t try too hard to name it. Dante could be abstruse and exposed little underneath his chatters.

That was fine by him though, Nero trusted him. Had been for long.

Kyrie and the children arrived a while after. She was happy to see the devil hunter, introducing him to the three boys. Nero sat on the chair, not participating in their conversation. He rubbed his Devil Bringer, feeling Yamato thrummed from within. She always did whenever Dante was around. The older hunter never asked for it back, having the confidence that he was capable to keep it.

Nero promised himself to wield her correctly. To be better of a hunter so the people around him would be safe. To be stronger that he could watch everyone’s back. Could watch Dante’s back. And in the future, he would stand side by side with him or even in front of him.

He promised himself for Dante to not have that _look_ anymore. The alarm and subsequent relief when Nero was out of harm’s way. For himself to finally be strong and powerful enough that he would be able to protect him. Even when he knew Dante was the least of them all that needed protecting.

But he wanted to. He was stubborn like that. Dante’s bloodied visage sometimes still visited when he closed his eyes.

Nero promised himself because Dante was his closest people now. And nothing would ever take his dear people again anymore.

Not when he could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wonder how the aftermath of the Order in DMC4 was - they seemed a lot like the Vatican and Sanctus looked like the equivalent of a Pope in that island. Both as the cult leader and some sort of governing body. Huh, we never know. 
> 
> Credo's death was admittedly a bit meh for me because I couldn't make such connection with him. The light novels Deadly Fortuna did have more insight and lore but the two books aren't translated and procuring them is difficult. But, well, this is MY fanfiction :D - I get to play with it however I want :3
> 
> I really dig the cathedrals, churches, and the mishmash of gothic/baroque/roman architecture of the environment in 4. Really sells the old style, conservative, and glaringly cult-like island from an outsider's point of view. 
> 
> Maybe in another life, in a kinder world, Dante would be a good parent/uncle for Nero. In this universe, he might be shocked inside when he saw this mini Vergil lookalike running around. Must be a breath of relief that Nero doesn't act like his father. At all. That would prolly be torture for Dante to be reminded. :D 
> 
> Anyway, happy new year 2021. I know 2020 has been not that great, but here's a better hope and new perseverance!
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


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